A Chapter I Awki

My name is John Crester. My Dad, a Peruvian orphan, hired a private detective firm to find his biological father in Peru, South America.

The call from the detective came in late at night.

I was awake, afraid of a nightmare I often had.

In the nightmare there are no monsters, no killers, no witches, nothing really scary; there is only a vast, empty, dark space, and me. I'm alone and terrified.

I don't want to be alone.

That night I walked out of my bedroom and into Dad's office, sat on the plush Persian carpet, leaned my head on the soft Napa leather sofa, and watched Dad work.

He didn't notice me, he never does.

He was busy, looking for something in the drawers of his gold-encrusted, custom-made, ebony desk, when his cell rang.

“Henry Crester,” he answered, and frowned. He does not like to be interrupted when working. He’s always working.

“You found my father?” he asked. His shoulders loosened, muscles in his neck relaxed, the angry frown dissipated.

“Great, that’s just great...”

“Well... Bring him here...”

“To Lincoln, Nebraska, of course...”

“If he doesn't speak English, then have your detective come with him...”

“I don't care what it costs. Get it done!”

He terminated the call, put his cell down and, finally, noticed me. “What are you doing up?”

“I can't sleep, Daddy. Is your dad coming?” I changed the topic. I don't want to take a chance he’ll send me back to my room.

“Yes.”

“Does he speak Spanish or does he only speak Quechua?” Quechua is the language of the Incas and is still spoken in the Andes by their descendants.

“I didn't think to ask,” he replied.

He picked up his cell and dialed out again. “The old man, Pops, my dad. Does he speak Spanish?”

“I see... Thanks,” he said, terminated the call and put his cell down again.

“Is your dad my grandpa too?”

“Yes.”

I was very happy. Most of my eleven-year-old friends have two grandpas. Now I would too.

“Does he speak Spanish?”

“Both, Spanish and Quechua,” replied Dad.

Cool. Dad is fluent in Russian, Japanese, Chinese and Spanish. I'm fluent in Spanish. Both of us are native English speakers but neither one speaks a word of Quechua.

“Time to go to bed son.”

Dang. “Daddy, I'm not tired. Can I stay here? Please?”

Dad looked down and scratched his head, as he does when thinking. “You can stay, but be quiet. I have work to do.”

“Yes, Daddy. I'll be quiet, very quiet.”

I looked at the painting of my mother that hangs behind Dad's desk.

Why does Dad keep this painting?

I looked at my mother's eyes in the painting, she looked past me, as if I didn't exist.

Mom divorced Dad shortly after I was born. She met and married a Saudi Oil tycoon who did not want me as part of his house. I was left with Dad when my mother and her new husband moved to Saudi Arabia.

Did she love me? Was she as distant as she is in that painting? I do not remember much of her anymore.

To me, she is a woman in a painting staring with an empty look into a vast, dark, empty space.

“Pops is getting to Omaha tomorrow night.”

“Daddy, what?”

“I just got an e-mail. The detective and Pops are arriving at the Omaha airport tomorrow night.”

“Pops? who’s Pops?”

“Grandpa Crester, to me, is Dad. My Peruvian father, Pops.”

“Okay. Pops it is,” I replied.

“Pops to me, 'Abuelo' to you.” Abuelo is Spanish for grandfather.

“Okay, Daddy.” I was tired, stretched on top the Persian carpet and looked at my Ferrari Go-Kart. I have so many toys, I have so many things. Dad will buy me anything I want. I have everything, I thought, smiled, and closed my eyes.

I heard Dad working on the computer and fought sleepiness to open my eyes again and saw the painting of Mom looking past me.

I would like a good-night kiss, I thought and closed my eyes again.

I have nothing, I have absolutely nothing. I can't stay awake any longer.

I woke up late in the day. I was on top of the Napa Leather sofa, tightly tucked in the Vicuña wool blanket.

Dad must’ve lifted me from the carpet, tucked me in the blanket, and given me a good night kiss.

I wish Dad had woken me up. Oh, well... It doesn't matter. It's great to be eleven-years old and not have a nanny. I never liked nannies. I hope my Peruvian Grandpa isn't like a nanny. I hope he is like Grandpa Crester.

Dad came back late in the afternoon. He was in a rush, he’s always in a rush.

“Get changed Son, hurry up. I don't want to be late picking up Pops at the airport.”

“What's wrong with what I'm wearing? Change into what?”

“Into your Gucci suit.”

“Daaad.”

“Now!”

Dad never misses a chance to display his wealth. He changed into his top-of-the-line Gucci suit and Barker Black Ostrich Cap Toe shoes.

I wanted to stay in my jeans but no way Dad was going to allow me to go to the airport in jeans.

“Which Benz? The black or the white?” asked Dad.

“The black, it's my favorite.”

“Okay Son, get in.”

We arrived at the airport just in time and watched the passengers get off the airplane.

I spotted Awki right away. The first-class passengers coming off the plane were business executives dressed in business suits. Awki wore a clean, but old, white shirt. His brown pants were just as clean, as old, and as used as the shirt. He had sandals, and the soles looked like tire treads. Later that day I would learn that the sandals, called Ojotas, are made from discarded tires, and are common among the poor people of Peru.

He was old, but I could not tell how old. His skin was golden brown, his eyes black, his hair gray and dotted with speckles of silver. He was thin but sinewy, lean and muscular.

Oh, no. Dad is not going to like his dad wearing old clothes. He is going to blow his top.

I was right. Dad walked angrily towards the detective. “I pay you, your detectives and your firm a fortune. Couldn't you buy some new clothes for my father?” he yelled.

Everyone in the airport looked at him, at least that’s how it felt.

“I tried, I tried, but the old man would not go into the store,” replied the detective nervously.

“Moron! Are you trying to tell me that in your own country you can't handle an old man who doesn't speak English?” yelled Dad again.

“He’s something else,” said the detective, looking down and avoiding Dad's angry stare.

“Something else? He's just an old man, don't give me excuses!”

“He’s something else, you will see. He’s something else,” repeated the detective sheepishly.

I don't like it when Dad gets angry. It scares me. In public, it embarrasses me.

“Please, Dad, stop,” I asked, looking at the floor and about to cry.

He turned his head around and looked at me. “Not talking to you!”

“Alchi...”

The word was but a whisper... and yet it blocked out all noise.

I lifted my eyes and saw Awki kneeling in front of me.

“Alchi,” he said, in a low, calm voice, barely a whisper.

Alchi? What is Alchi?

“Nieto,” he explained, and tousled my hair. Nieto is Spanish for grandson.

“Abuelo,” I replied, still embarrassed, confused, and scared.

“Awki,” he said, and explained that while Abuelo is Spanish for Grandfather, Awki is the Quechua word.

“Alchi, you descend from the powerful Incas that ruled South America. Through your veins runs the blood of great warriors,” he said in Spanish.

I descended from the powerful Inca warriors that had ruled South America? My embarrassment, confusion, and fear were gone and replaced by pride.

“Awki,” I replied.

He smiled, and in that moment I knew I would get along with the old man.

Dad's yelling had attracted the attention of many of the passengers coming off the plane, the drama had become the center of attention.

Awki stood up and approached Dad, who still looked angry.

“Hijo,” Awki said, and he lovingly placed his open hand on Dad's cheek. Dad recoiled as if he had been touched by fire.

I saw tears roll down my grandfather's cheek as he bent down to pick up his bag.

I saw the disapproving looks of the people in the airport and was deeply ashamed of my father.

On the way back from the airport, Dad drove erratically, as he often does when angry or embarrassed.

“Dad, slow down,” I begged, to no avail.

He lost control of the car. “Damn! Hold on!” he yelled. The car skidded off the road, down a ditch, through a couple of small trees, and came to rest at the bottom of a ditch, wedged between some rocks, the tires deeply buried in the mud.

Dad turned around. “Is everyone okay?”

“I'm okay,” I replied.

Awki laughed and said something in Quechua.

“Spanish, Pops, Spanish. I don't understand Quechua!” yelled Dad.

Awki laughed again and said something else in Quechua. I don't know what he said then, but now that I know Awki, I bet it was something along the lines of 'Better learn Son. Better learn.’

Dad did not reply. He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, angry once more.

We were lucky, very lucky. It could have turned out badly, it was a miracle none of us got hurt.

Awki and I got out of the car.

It's going to take a long time to get this car out of the ditch.

Awki looked at the car, scratched his head and whistled.

“Don't worry, Awki,” I said. “Dad is calling for a new car to be brought here. We won't have to wait long.”

“What about this car?”

“Awki, it will take a long time to get this car out of the mud. Don’t worry about it, Dad will have a new one here in no time.”

Awki looked around, thought for a few moments, and looked at Dad. “I am not leaving until that car is pulled out of the ditch.”

“Pops, that car is stuck in the mud. It will take hours to get it out. I have work to do. I can't sit here all night,” protested Dad.

Awki did not reply. He turned around and nimbly zigzagged up the rocky slope to the top of the ditch. He sat on a rock at the edge of the ledge and looked at the sky. It looked to me as if he was going to stay, regardless of what Dad wanted.

Dad looked up the ditch and then at me “Look at him! What does he think he's doing?” he grumbled.

“Daddy, calm down.”

“Calm down? I have a business to run. I can't sit here all night!”

“But Dad...”

“But nothing. I'm going to talk some sense into him,” said Dad, and then he turned, stepped onto the wet ditch wall, slipped, and fell flat on his face.

I knew better than to laugh.

Dad is not one to give up. He got up and started up the ditch.

“Damn!” he yelled every time he slipped and fell.

Five times by my count.

By the time Dad reached the top of the ditch, he was clearly unhappy. I could not hear what Dad said, but saw he was agitated.

I could see them up on the ledge, Awki immovable as a rock, Dad jumping and gesticulating like a madman.

Neither the yelling, nor the jumping, nor the cursing, did Dad any good. Awki kept on gazing at the stars and completely ignored his son.

I started up the wall of the ditch and slipped and fell more than Dad had. I was surprised at how difficult it was to get up that ditch wall. Awki had not slipped once. He had made it look so easy as he zigzagged up the ditch wall, like a deer running up a hill.

By the time I got to the top of the ditch, Dad had calmed down a little.

“Daddy, when is the new car getting here?”

“I canceled the new car and called for a tow truck instead. Pops says he won't ride in a car except that one,” said Dad, pointing at the car at the bottom of the ditch.

“Why does he care?”

“I don't know. Maybe he's senile. Look at him! Nothing better to do than to look at the sky.”

I walked over to where Awki was. “What are you doing Awki?”

“I am befriending the stars.”

“Befriending the stars?”

“Back in my village, I am friends with all the southern stars. When I am out fishing at night I talk to them, they talk back to me. They guide me in the darkest nights, they are my friends. I don't know these northern stars. This northern sky is a very lonely sky. So very few stars.”

“Pops, the sky is not lonely. Your village is far away from large cities,” said Dad, typing an e-mail on his cellular.

“Here, the lights from large cities dim the stars. The stars you are looking at now are probably Polaris, Alkaid, Mizar or Alioth. They are big and bright, not dimmed by city lights,” said Dad, finishing one e-mail and starting another.

“You know the stars?” asked Awki.

“Yes.”

“You know the stars from books?”

Dad frowned as he does when irritated. “Yes, Pops. From books, how else would I learn about the stars?”

“Have you ever looked at them? Really looked at them?”

“No.”

“Then you know of the stars but you don't know the stars,” said Awki looking away from the sky and looking at Dad.

Dad stopped typing and looked at the sky.

“Have you taught the stars to your son?”

Dad did not answer. He put his cell into his pocket and sat by my side.

It took several hours to get the car out of the ditch and all that time I was with Dad, befriending the stars. It was the first time Dad and I had spent so much time together.

It was a night I will forever remember.

Chapter II The Football Game

“Pops, Son. Come down for breakfast.”

I look at my watch. It's Saturday morning, not even eight yet.

“Daaad”

“Now!”

I know better than to argue with Dad. What's up with Dad, anyway? He never cooks breakfast for me.

I come down the stairs. Awki is already at the table.

“Hurry up Son, we are waiting for you.”

I pull a chair and sit at the table. I'm still sleepy.

Dad looks at me and then at Awki and smiles. “Pops, today is going to be a special day. This afternoon we are going to watch Nebraska play Texas.”

Oh, that's great. I'm not sleepy anymore. “Awki, Nebraska-Texas is a classic. You're gonna to love it.”

Awki looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

Maybe he doesn't like football. “Awki, do you like to watch football games?”

“Oh, yes. In Peru, I watch as many games as I can... even bad matches.”

“Son, he is confused. He thinks you mean Fútbol,” said Dad.

I laugh and almost spill my milk on the table. What we call soccer in the United States, much of the world calls Fútbol. “Awki, not the fútbol where you kick the ball with your feet, but the football where you throw the ball with your hands.”

“Ah, American Fútbol. No, I have never seen it.” He put his cup of coffee down. “I would like to watch that crazy game.”

“Awki, you're gonna love it. Nebraskans are like completely crazy about their college football team. The stadium is always full, and there is pop and popcorn and it is so cool.”

Dad stood up. “Calm down Son, calm down.” He headed for the door and put his suede leather jacket on. “Son, I have an important business meeting but I'll be back in time to pick up Pops and you for the game. Be ready.”

All his business meetings are always important. “Okay, Dad.”

Dad opens the door. “Bye, Pops,” he says, walks out and closes the door behind him.

Awki stands up and goes to the living room.

I look at him. He is my dad's real dad. That’s why Dad is not white with red hair like Grandpa Crester. He is bronze skinned and has black hair like Awki. That's why I, like Dad, have bronze colored skin and black hair.

Awki was looking at an old Commodore-64 in a crystal case.

“Dad's first computer. He got into computers as a kid and started writing computer programs before the IBM PC Junior or Windows were created,” I explained.

“IBM PC Junior, Windows?”

Oh, no. Old man from the Peruvian Andes. Explaining computers is going to be hard. “Awki, Daddy started a computer business when he was very young and when computers took off so did his business. That's why we are very rich.”

Awki smiled and tousled my hair. “Alchi, you are not rich.”

Not rich, what does he mean not rich? Can't he see all the things we have?

“Awki, come with me, I'll show you the house. Our yard is one of the biggest in the city, and wait until you see Dad's office.” I spent the rest of the morning showing Awki the house, the yard, all the rooms and all my toys. Time flew by, the afternoon came quickly.

Dad walked into the house. He was in a rush. He is always in a rush. “Ready, Son? Let's go!”

Awki, Dad and I walked out of the house and to the white Mercedes-Benz. The black one was still at the shop.

“No speeding, Son. No more accidents,” said Awki.

Dad sped anyway. We parked in Dad's private parking spot and walked into the stadium.

“Son, I'm going to go up to our sky box. I need to hook up to the Internet and get work done.”

“Dad, I'm gonna take Awki to the front row seats.”

“Why not come with me to our sky box?”

“I want Awki to experience the crowds, experience Nebraska football!”

“Do you have the tickets with you?”

Dad always bought front row season tickets but never used them. He always went to our sky box and worked.

I took the tickets out of my pocket. “Yes, Dad. Right here.”

“Okay, Son, be careful,” replied Dad and then he looked at Awki.

“Pops, watch my son. Big crowds here.” Then he turned around and headed towards our sky box.

Awki and I sat in the front row seats. Awki didn't have the first clue about football but had a great time cheering, doing the wave, eating popcorn and drinking pop.

Every time Nebraska scored a touchdown and the crowd got up and cheered, Awki cheered as loudly and with as much enthusiasm as a born Nebraskan and, unknowingly, he was charming the people around us.

Well... there was the one time Texas scored and Awki got up and cheered loudly, only to realize, by the puzzled look of all those around us, that he was cheering the wrong team.

“Oops, wrong team,” he said in Spanish, and laughed.

Those around us broke into laughter. No one understood what Awki said, but everyone knew the old man was laughing at himself and having a good time with his grandson.

Soon people around us were giving him hats, and flags, and shirts. Awki walked into the stadium a Peruvian, but he walked out a Nebraskan.

Dad came down and got us a few minutes before the end of the game. “Let's go, I don't want to get stuck in traffic.”

We got up, left the stadium and went to Dad's private parking spot.

“Pops, the mechanic saved some of your stuff from the black Benz. It's in the back-seat pocket,” said Dad, unlocking the white Benz. “Hurry up. Let's go. Traffic is starting to build up.”

The only bad thing about Nebraska football is the after-game traffic.

Cars move at a snail's pace.

We did not get out of the stadium soon enough.

Dad hit the steering wheel. “Dammit! I hate this!”

“For God's sake, a red light?”      said Dad, and hit the steering wheel again.

“Come on! Come on! Move!” Dad yelled, honking the horn.

“Awki, don't worry,” I whispered. “Traffic gets to Dad. Road rage kinda thing.”

“That's not good,” said Awki. “Your dad needs to control himself.”

Dad control himself? Ha! I thought. “It's okay, we are getting onto the highway. Not as much traffic on the highway.”

Awki leaned forward, searched the car's side pockets and pulled out a bag. “Good, I am glad to get this back.”

“What is it, Awki?”

“A gift for you. I thought I lost it when we went down the ditch,” he said, handing me a strange looking rope and a bag of stones.

Just as I was going to ask what it was, a pickup cut in front of us.

“Morons!” yelled Dad and pushed hard on the horn.

Well... road rage, sometimes, goes both ways.

The pickup driver slammed on the brakes and forced Dad to drive off the highway, past the shoulder, and into a farm field.

“Morons!” yelled Dad again, bringing the car to a stop at the edge of the corn field.

Three guys got out of the pickup. They were big, very big. They ran up to our car, opened the doors, yanked us out of the car and threw us on the ground.

Dad stood up and was pushed hard on his chest. He stumbled back, hit the pickup, fell down, and scrambled back to his feet.

The big guys noticed that Awki was an old man, and I just a kid. They ignored us and headed towards Dad. I knew Dad did not have a chance, but Dad is not one to back down. He had his fists closed, his teeth clenched, and was ready to fight.

“Aw!” yelled one of the aggressors. I saw him on the ground, grabbing his knee and rolling on the dirt in obvious pain.

I turned back and saw Awki swinging the strange looking rope over his head, “Alchi, tell them,” he said, “tell them their face is about the size of the left side view mirror on their pickup.”

As soon as I had finished translating, Awki released one end of the rope, and a rock flew out and into the left side view mirror of their pickup. The side view mirror exploded into very small pieces.

I looked back at Awki, who had already loaded another rock and was, once again, swinging the strange rope over his head.

“Alchi, tell them I can do the same to their faces.”

I translated. I think they are getting scared.

“Pete, Joe. Let's go. My knee is all busted up,” said the guy on the ground.

“Joe, the old man doesn't scare me. Let's rush him. You and me at the same time. He can't get us both,” said Pete, who was the biggest of the group and itching for a fight.

Joe looked uncertain. “I... I don't know.”

“Alchi, tell them they are two. Tell them to watch the left and right rear lights on their pickup.”

As soon as I translated, the left rear light on their pickup disappeared, broken into small pieces. Almost immediately the right rear light evaporated, also broken into small pieces. As one, our heads swiveled back to look at Awki, he had loaded another rock.

“Tell them I can hit a rat on the run. In a fight, with this weapon, I will kill a man! Tell them to get back in their pickup and drive away or I will kill them!”

I did not need to translate.

“Jesus! Let's get out here,” said Joe, not moving.

“Tell the old man to take it easy. I'm just going to pick up my friend and we're leaving, okay?” asked Pete, moving very slowly towards his fallen friend.

Awki followed his every move, left hand pointed at him, right hand swinging the loaded rope.

“Kid, tell him we are leaving. No trouble, okay?” said Pete.

“Kid, for god's sake! Tell him to stop swinging that thing,” said Joe, as they picked up their friend and slowly walked back.

I did not say anything, Awki kept swinging the loaded rope as they climbed into their pickup and drove away.

“What is that thing?” I asked, watching Awki pick up the rocks from the ground.

“A Waraka, a Honda,” said Awki, handing me back my gift.

“It is an ancient weapon. It is the weapon the Incas used in the hunt, the weapon the Incas used in war. It is a weapon replaced by the gun, but in the Andes, those of us that keep the ancient ways, still know this weapon,” explained Awki.

Dad started the car. “Let's go.”

Awki and I got into the car.

“Alchi, would you like to learn how to use the Waraka?”

“Oh yes, Awki. This is the best gift ever!” I replied, pressing the Waraka close to my chest.

So this is what a sling looks like, this is what David used to slay Goliath.

Chapter III The Crester Farm

“Son, it has been a very long time since we visited Grandpa Crester. We should go for a visit, what do you think?”

Grandpa Crester inherited his farm, a few acres of good dark Nebraska soil, from his dad, who inherited the farm from his dad, who inherited the farm from his dad, and so on for several generations.

Although farming did not generate as much money as the software business, Dad invested part of his wealth expanding and modernizing the farm.

“I don't know Daddy, the farm is so big.” By the time Dad completed the farm expansion, the farm had grown to hundreds of acres, I don't know how many. The original farm -The Old Farm- as we called it, was a small piece of land on the southwest corner.

Dad laughed. “I won't show Pops the whole farm, Son, just part of it.”

“The Old Farm?”

“That old piece of old land? No way! Grandpa Crester is nuts, wants to keep it untouched. What a waste. I can make it so much more productive.”

“Daddy, whatever comes out of 'The Old Farm', tastes so much better than anything else in the world.”

“Now you are talking the same nonsense as Grandpa Crester.”

You are just being stubborn. You don't want to admit Grandpa is right and you are wrong. “Grandpa Crester doesn't speak Spanish and he's gonna tell me to play outside and get 'fresh country air'. You're gonna lock yourself in a room to get work done. Awki doesn't speak English. What is Awki going to do?”

“I'm going to show Pops all the modern machinery I bought. Pops was a farmer, he will appreciate the value of modern equipment.”

“Awki was a farmer? I thought he was a fisherman.”

“The detective reported that Pops became a fisherman when he came down to the coast. In the Andes, he was a farmer. He was a subsistence farmer, like the pioneers. No machines, or fertilizers or insecticides.”

“Sounds to me like Awki's farm was a lot like ‘The Old Farm’.”

“I want both of my fathers to meet each other. I'll show Pops how to operate a modern tractor, we will leave early Saturday morning and come back Sunday night. It's going to be a great time!”

Dad was not listening to me anymore.

We got up early Saturday morning as Dad had planned, got into the recently repaired black Mercedes-Benz and drove off.

We were silent for a few moments and then Dad asked, “Pops, what happened to me? Why did you leave me?”

Awki took a deep breath, sighed heavily and looked out the window. I saw a tear come down his cheek.

“Son, I did not leave you. I thought you were dead. You were born Gonzalo Mamani in a small town in the Peruvian Andes. It was a time of great violence and bloodshed. I had gone to the coast to find a job and save some money to get your mom, your brothers and you out of the Andes. The coast was safer. You were only five years old when your mother and all your brothers were killed on the Andes slopes; collateral damage to a gunfight between the Peruvian army and the Shining Path communist rebels.

The rebels won that fight and buried everyone in a community grave. They threw everyone in a hole and buried them,” said Awki angrily. “I was told you were among the dead.”

We were silent for a while.

“How did you get here?” asked Awki.

“Let me tell the story, let me tell the story. I love that story,” I begged.

“Okay, Son, okay. You tell it.”

“Grandpa Paul Crester is just great, wait until you meet him.”

“Just tell the story, Son.”

“Okay. Before dying, Grandma hid Dad in a crevice. When the gun fight was over, Dad crawled out of the crevice and was soon lost in the slopes of the Andes. It is a miracle Dad survived. He was found by a group of llama shepherds. Dad was dehydrated and half-starved. The llama shepherds dropped him off in a small town where Dad, at five years old, became the town's urchin. He made a living by charming tourists for a coin or two when he could, pickpocketing tourists for a coin or two when he could.”

“Once a pick pocket, now a multi-millionaire. The twists of life,” interrupted Dad.

“Daaad.”

“Sorry Son, didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Grandpa Crester never had kids of his own, but always wanted to adopt. On one of his missionary trips, he went to help build a school in the town Dad lived in. The first time they met, Dad charmed Grandpa Crester out of a coin. The next day, Dad pick pocketed Grandpa Crester out of several coins. On the third day, Dad had the nerve to charm Grandpa Crester out of another coin. Grandpa Crester thought it would be cheaper to hire the little urchin to help with the school. By the time the school was built, Grandpa Crester could not bear to part from this kid who had charmed him so, and adopted him. That is how Dad came to the States.”

“I think I am going to like Grandpa Crester,” said Awki.

“We are here,” said Dad, bringing the car to a stop.

I ran out of the car and gave Grandpa Crester a big hug.

“Hey, Johnny Boy,” Grandpa Crester said, tousling my hair.

Dad and Awki stepped out after me. “Hey, Son,” said Grandpa Crester, giving Dad a hug.

Awki and Grandpa Crester exchanged smiles.

“Pops, come. I'll show you around. Give you a tour of the farm,” said Dad.

That's a first. Dad is not locking himself up to do some work.

Dad beamed with pride as he took Awki over to the modern tractors and explained how all these modern machines made farming easier, and more productive.

“It is by these machines that America feeds the world,” bragged Dad.

“These tractors can do more work than one hundred men. This grain combine harvester is more productive than an entire village. This irrigation system...” Dad continued.

Does Dad think Awki is interested in all this? He looks bored and un-interested to me.

I saw that Grandpa Crester was looking down at the ground as we walked. He seemed a little sad, a little out of place.

I walked over to him. “What's wrong, Grandpa?”

“Johnny Boy,” he said, “I understand how productive and important modern machinery is to farming, but my true love, my passion, is 'The Old Farm’. I was looking forward to showing it to your... what do you call him?”

“Awki, Awki means grandfather in Quechua.”

“Yes, I wanted to show Awki 'The Old Farm’. I very much hoped he would like it as much as I do.”

“You could show Awki 'The Old Farm' after Dad is done showing him the modern part of the farm.”

“I don't know. Maybe it's not a good idea. I know your Dad would be embarrassed. Your Dad is so proud of all these machines he has bought.”

“Grandpa, I like 'The Old Farm' a lot more than I like these machines.”

“I do too, Johnny Boy, I do too. I don't know why, but it's important to me that your Awki likes what I do here, that he likes 'The Old Farm’.”

“Dad tells me Awki was a farmer too. Why do you think he won't like it?”

“Look at him,” Grandpa said. “He is bored and uninterested. If he is not impressed by all these machines, how is he going to be impressed by an old farm? I'll just keep it a secret.” He sighed sadly.

By the time Dad finished the equipment tour, it was close to noon, and we headed back to the farmhouse for lunch.

All of a sudden, Awki stopped, turned his head southwest, and looked directly at where 'The Old Farm’ was. Without speaking a word, he walked to the edge of the corn, knelt down, grabbed some good black Nebraska soil, pressed it between his hands and smiled.

Grandpa Crester smiled too. He broke away from us, and half walked, half hopped, as he did when excited. He knelt by Awki's side and pointed at a spot.

Awki grabbed some soil from that spot, smelled the soil, looked at it, and pointed at another spot.

Grandpa Crester grabbed a husk of corn and handed it over to Awki. Awki peeled the top and inspected the corn. He took a kernel, put it in his mouth and bit on it, smiled and made some hand gestures.

Grandpa Crester replied with some hand gestures of his own, stood up and walked into the corn. Awki followed. Soon they had disappeared, lost amongst the corn stalks growing on 'The Old Farm’.

“Let’s go and have some lunch. It will be a long time before those two come back,” said Dad.

“Daddy, what just happened there?”

“I don't know, Son. I do know that it will be late night before those two show up.”

“Should we worry? Should we get someone?”

Dad burst out laughing. “Worry about those two? Those two can handle anything anyone throws at them.” He threw an arm over my shoulder and looked at me. “Worry about those two?” He laughed again.

“Come on Son. Let's walk back to the house and get some lunch.” He said, still laughing.

Dad had never hugged me like that before. I felt all grown up.

It was late at night before Grandpa Crester and Awki came back. They were covered in dirt and sweat but clearly had had the time of their lives.

For an instant, a magical moment, as they stood in the doorway smiling against a moonlit sky, they were not two old men, but two young men full of strength and full of life.

I knew then that Dad was right. Those two could handle anything anyone threw at them.

Chapter IV The Soccer Duel

When I woke up, the first thing I heard was an argument between Dad and Grandpa Crester.

“Son, why did you arrange a business meeting with Tom on a Sunday morning?”

“If he wants our business, he'll meet me for breakfast at a time of my choosing. Otherwise, there are plenty of bankers that will gladly take the farm business!”

“What you do with your software business is up to you! The farm business is mine, and I'm loyal to my friends!” Grandpa fumed.

Dad opened the door. “Let's not argue about this. Tom already agreed to meet me for breakfast. Let's not make a big deal out of it.”

“Apologize to Tom for making him do business on a Sunday morning,” yelled Grandpa.

“I will!” yelled Dad and slammed the door on his way out.

I came out of my room. Awki was standing by the stairs. The argument must have woken him up too. “What's up, Grandpa?”

“Johnny Boy, I wanted your dad to show you both his old room, but he's off to a business meeting.”

“His old room? You mean the room Dad used as a kid?”

“Yes, Johnny Boy. The room your dad grew up in, would you like to see it?”

“Sure Grandpa.”

“Ask Awki to come too, I think he'll like it.”

“Sure Grandpa. What's so special about that room?”

“You'll see.”

“Awki, let's go upstairs into Dad's old room. There are some things Grandpa Crester wants to show us.”

We followed Grandpa upstairs and waited for him to unlock the door.

The room was full of pictures of Dad. He had been a chubby little boy but he thinned out into an athletic teenager.

I grabbed one of the photos and laughed. Grandpa came over, took the photo out of my hand, looked at it and smiled. “The age of Disco.”

“He looks so funny with bell bottom pants and platform shoes,” I said.

“I hated that shoulder length hair on your dad,” laughed Grandpa.

“Grandpa, I thought the room Dad slept in was the room he grew in.”

“The room your dad sleeps in is the guest bedroom. This room, to me, is a special room. I keep my memories here.”

The room was full of trophies, medals, and photos of Dad with his soccer team.

I grabbed one of the gold medals with a soccer ball engraving. “Grandpa, I didn't know Dad played soccer.”

“I don't know where your dad got his passion for soccer,” Grandpa Crester replied. “Not much soccer in Nebraska back then, but your dad found a team to join. They played on the East Coast and on the West Coast and everywhere they could.”

“Was his team any good?”

“Not really, but your dad...  your dad was something else.”

“How good was he?”

“I don't know much about soccer, but the people who know told me your dad was good enough to be a professional in Europe. I hear that the best soccer teams and best soccer players play over there.”

I turned to translate and saw Awki lovingly touching the photographs of his son, and paging through the albums as tears fell down his face.

Awki looked at me. “Please thank your grandfather for taking such good care of my son. My son is very lucky to have had him for a father.”

Grandpa Crester grabbed all the albums and handed them to Awki. “Tell Awki to please take these albums with him. I have the memories of my son, he can have the photos of his son.”

I gave the albums to Awki. He looked at Grandpa but said nothing. The tears welling up in his eyes said all that needed to be said.

As we left the room Grandpa Crester grabbed a soccer ball and handed it to Awki. “Ask him to accept this ball as a gift, it is the one I bought for your dad just before he tore his ACL and stopped playing.”

“Did Dad stop playing because he tore his ACL?”

“Several things happened,” said Grandpa Crester. “He tore his ACL, his computer business began to take off, and he met your mom. I wish he would have kept playing, it gave him so much happiness.”

After we left Dad's room, Grandpa locked the door. We went downstairs and Awki headed out the front door and into the front yard with the ball.

I was about to follow but Grandpa Crester grabbed me by the shoulder and stopped me.

“Johnny Boy, he needs some time to himself,” he said, sitting by the window.

I sat by Grandpa's side and looked out the window.

Awki looked at the ball for a few moments, dropped the ball on the grass, stepped on the ball with his right foot, pulled the ball back, and with a flick of his foot he had the ball up in the air. As the ball came down, he brought his knee up and propelled the ball up to his shoulder, he shouldered the ball up to his head, headed the ball up twice and let it come down on his left foot, and with the left foot flicked he flicked the ball back up again.

The ball went from his foot to his head to his shoulder to his knee and never touched the ground. I had never seen anything like that.

“Your dad used to do that exact same thing,” said Grandpa Crester. “He spent hours doing exactly that. It was magic. It was a wonderful thing to watch.”

Just as Grandpa finished speaking, Dad's car rolled into the driveway. Dad got out of the car, Awki lost control of the ball and the ball rolled to Dad.

Dad flicked the ball up with his right foot, held the ball on top of his head for a couple of seconds, let it come down to his knee, then to his foot, and then lobbed the ball back to Awki.

“A challenge, a soccer duel. This is going to be fun!” said Grandpa, rubbing his hands.

“A soccer duel? What's that?”

“A player does a trick and lobs the ball back to the other player. The player receiving the ball copies the trick, makes a new trick, and lobs the ball back. The first player that can't copy a trick loses,” explained Grandpa.

“Ha!” laughed Awki receiving the ball with his head, he held it for a couple of seconds, let it come down to his knee, and then down to his foot, copying Dad's trick.       Awki flicked the ball up in the air, stopped it with his chest, rolled the ball around his shoulders and flicked the ball back to Dad.

“Ha!” laughed Dad. He received the ball with the chest, copied Awki’s trick, flicked the ball back up, circled his leg around the ball in what is known as an ‘around the world’ and flicked the ball back.

Awki received the ball, copied Dad's move, added a trick of his own, and flicked the ball back.

They went on like this for several minutes. They copied each other’s tricks, added a twist of their own, and flicked the ball back and forth, and the ball never touched the ground. It was magic.

Then Dad said a tu pecho “to your chest,” receiving the ball on his head. He let it roll down his back, bending down and trapping the ball with the back of his neck. Then he spun so his back faced Awki, straightened back up and propelled the ball upwards, high into the sky. As the ball went up, he continued his motion into a backward flip and as he was upside down and the ball coming down, he gently tapped the ball into Awki‘s chest, completed the flip and stood up waiting for Awki to copy the move.

Awki let the ball drop. “That is an impossible move,” he said. “That is an impossible move,” he repeated.

Dad walked over to Awki. “I'm just a bit younger Pops,” he said, hugging Awki. He looked away, unaware he was looking in my direction, and wiped tears from his eyes.

It was the first time I saw Dad cry.

Chapter V Sling Practice

Sunday afternoon, after lunch, Awki went outside to practice with his sling.

He placed pop cans on top of the fence posts that separated the house from the corn fields at the Crester Farm. He walked about ten yards away from the cans, put a fist-sized stone in the pouch of his sling, and knocked the cans off the fence post one by one.

After a couple of rounds, he grabbed five cans, put them on top of five fence posts, walked about twenty yards away from the posts, pulled five lead balls out of his pocket, put one in the pouch and swung the sling, released one end and knocked out one of the cans.

He grabbed the loose end of the sling while it was still in the air, dropped another lead ball into the pouch and swung the sling keeping the momentum, released and knocked another can off, and did the same thing again, and again until all the cans were knocked off. It took less than two seconds, the sling never stopped.

That is amazing. I want to learn to do that. I grabbed my sling and ran out.

“Awki, Awki teach me!”

He picked me up. “Hug first,” he said. He put me down and knelt by my side. “There are three parts to a sling,” he explained.

He pointed at the part of the sling you put the rocks into. “The pouch is this part.”

He pointed at the knotted end of the sling. “This is the release.”

“This part of the sling is the retention cord,” he said, pointing at the loop at the other end of the sling.

“How does it work?”

“You insert your hand into the loop at the end of the retention cord, load the pouch with a rock, grab the release cord, swing the sling, and let go of the release cord when ready.”

“Cool. Got it. Pass me a rock.”

Awki looked at me and smiled. “First you must learn to swing the sling. Try this,” he said, easily swinging his sling overhead, like a cowboy would a lasso.

Awki made it look pretty easy, but it wasn't easy at all. It was pretty hard. I could get it to swing every so often, but I could not get a good rhythm and hit my head once or twice.

“Can I try a rock?”

“No Alchi, you are not ready yet. It is a good thing that the sling was not loaded when you hit your head. Try this,” said Awki, swinging his sling by his side.

I tried to swing the sling as Awki did. Although he made it look easy, that way was not easy either, my sling kept hitting the ground, and I really wanted to try a rock.

“Can I try a rock?”

“Alchi, you are not ready yet. Try it this way, maybe you won't hit the ground,” he said, swinging his sling in a diagonal.

I copied Awki, and although it was easier, I could not do it right. My sling did not hit the ground as often as it had before, but I couldn't keep a good rhythm.

“Awki, this is really hard.”

“Alchi, you are trying too hard. You are too uptight. Relax, don't think about the sling. As you swing, look at that bird on the fence post. Focus on his chirping.”

I did as Awki suggested and focused on the bird. Although I still made mistakes, I had a much better swing.

“Awki, could you hit the bird with a rock?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don't know, for fun?”

Awki stopped my arm and knelt in front of me.

“Alchi, killing man or beast is never fun. You have no need to kill. Do you want me to teach you the Waraka so you can kill?”

I looked at the bird, heard the happy chirps, and knew I did not want the bird dead. “No, I don't want to kill the bird or anything else.”

“Why do you want to learn the Waraka then?”

“I don't know. I loved watching you hit the cans. I want to be like you. I want to hit cans like you do.”

Awki smiled and tousled my hair. “Yes, Alchi. Target practice is a good exercise, very relaxing, very beautiful, and the only good reason for you to learn the Waraka.”

“Can I try a rock?” I asked, hoping to take advantage of Awki's merry mood.

Awki laughed and shook his head. “No Alchi, you are not ready yet, try the diagonal swing again.”

I did as Awki asked and after a few minutes I was not hitting the ground anymore.

I'm getting a hang of this. I got this.

Awki looked at me and smiled. “Much, much better. You are a natural,” he said.

I smiled and pointed at a rock on the grass. “Cool. Pass me that rock.”

“No Alchi, not yet,” he laughed. “You need to practice release. Practice the diagonal swing and release so that the release cord goes in front of you. That is the way the rock will go.”

Dang. “Okay,” I said, but that was easier said than done. I tried to do as Awki asked, but that release cord had a mind of its own. It went to the left and to the right and even to my back, but not to the front.

“Alchi, you are trying too hard, relax.”

“I know, I know,” I sighed. “Relax, focus on the bird, focus on the chirping.” I relaxed, focused on the chirping and... for the first time, the release cord was in front of me.

Oh yes, this time I got this.

Dad walked out of the house with Grandpa Crester. “Pops, Son, get ready to go. We need to get back home.”

Awki turned around and headed towards Dad and Grandpa Crester.

Finally, an opportunity. I grabbed a rock, placed it inside the pouch, swung the sling as hard as I could, and let go of the release cord.

Release cord went to my left, the rock zinged past Awki's right ear, went between Dad and Grandpa Crester, and buried itself in the driver's door of the white Mercedes-Benz.

I froze in panic. I knew Dad would completely lose it. I knew he was going to ground me for a year, take my Waraka away, and possibly kill me.

“Son…” said Grandpa Crester, expecting Dad to explode.

Awki sidestepped so that he was between Dad and me.

Dad went over to the car, pulled the rock out of the door, and began to laugh.

“Son,” he said, “I've crashed a car into a telephone pole, knocked the garage door out a couple of times, slid off the road and down a ditch, and now you drive a rock into the door. We are making my mechanic rich.”

He walked around Awki and knelt in front of me.

“Did Awki say you could use a rock?”

“No Daddy, I'm sorry Daddy,” I mumbled, still very afraid.

“I'm not upset about the car but you could have hurt Awki, you could have hurt Grandpa Crester, you could have hurt me. Did you want that?”

“No Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” I muttered, about to cry.

“That's okay, that's okay. No need to cry,” he said, pulling me towards him and giving me a hug.

“Son you are growing into a man. It is important you listen to us, okay?”

“You are not going to ground me?”

“No, I don't think I need to.”

“You are not going to take my Waraka away?”

“No.”

“You are not going to kill me?”

“Of course not,” laughed dad. “Go give Grandpa Crester a hug and a kiss. We need to get back home.”

I did as Dad asked and gave Grandpa a very big hug. He hugged me back and I ran to get in the back of Dad's car. Soon we were on the road and on the way back home.

“Son.”

“Yes?” I asked, still expecting Dad to blow up at me.

“Son, I know I lose my temper, and I know I have been harsh, but I love you more than anything else. You are the most precious thing I have. I want you to know that.”

“I know, Daddy. I love you too.”

I was glad Dad had not grounded me, or taken my Waraka away, or killed me but...

Why was Dad acting like this? What was wrong with Dad?

Chapter VI The Camping Trip

“I think next week we should go camping in the Black Hills.”

“Are you taking next weekend off too?” It had been a very long time since Dad and I had gone camping.

“I'm thinking about it. We can leave early Thursday and stay until Sunday.”

Dad just spent a weekend visiting Grandpa Crester, and is ready to take another weekend off? I can't believe it. He never takes time off, is he going crazy? “Daddy, are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Of course I am okay, why?”

“You never take time off.”

Dad laughed. “I guess I never do. Listen, Pops will go back to Peru soon. I don't know what the Peruvian Highlands look like, but the Black Hills are spectacular. I want Pops and you to see them. I want him to see some of our country.”

“Can Awki stay and live with us?”

“Alchi, I can't stay in Nebraska. I love you both and I am having a great time, but my home is in Peru. Maybe you two can come and visit me sometime?”

“Oh, that would be great! Can we? Can we?”

“Maybe one of these days, we will wait and see.”

“Alchi, all countries have special places. Looks like the Black Hills is a special place in your country. You should see it. I would like to see it with you two.”

“That settles it. We are going camping to the Black Hills. Tomorrow afternoon we will go and buy everything we need. Now off to bed,” said Dad, giving me a hug and a kiss.

“Good night, Daddy,” I said, returning his hug. I gave Awki a big hug and headed off to my bedroom.

Awki and I spent most of the next day practicing with the sling in the back yard. This time I did not ask for a rock but practiced hard all morning doing what Awki asked me to do.

Shortly after lunch, Awki looked at me and handed me a rock. “You are ready.”

This is so cool I'm so happy. I looked at Awki's face. I think he is happy too.

I placed the rock in the pouch, aimed for the can, swung the sling, released and... missed the can by a mile.

“Alchi, that is good, very good. You missed the can but at least the rock went in the right direction. Not sideways or backward,” joked Awki.

“Awki, really? I missed by like a mile. You hit the can every time.”

“Alchi, I have been practicing for a very long time. I have been using a Waraka since I was your age. You are progressing very quickly. You have talent, a lot of talent.”

Awki was right, by late afternoon I was hitting the cans more often than I was missing.

Dad drove up the driveway in a huge pickup truck. He stopped, rolled down the window. “What do you think?” he asked.

“What do we need that monster for?”

“To take the camping equipment to the Black Hills,” answered Dad.

“Are we camping or are we moving?” joked Awki.

“Funny Pops, very funny. Come on, climb in. Let' go and buy what we need.”

We drove to a sports store nearby and Dad bought three sleeping bags, three air mattresses, an electric stove, and a generator to run the stove and keep the cell phones and laptops charged. He purchased a folding table, three folding chairs, pans, pots, coolers, an air pump and an eight-person tent.

“Daddy, we are three. Why are you buying an eight-person tent?”

“Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it,” replied Dad walking over to the fishing poles.

“What are you buying a generator for?” I asked.

“To keep the laptops and cell phones charged. I need the Internet.”

“The Internet? From the Black Hills? How are you going to connect to the Internet?”

“I bought Satellite Internet Service. I can connect from anywhere in the world,” said Dad.

This is a bit too much, even for Dad. Is he trying to impress Awki?

Dad bought a great number of lures, weights, hooks, and fishing lines of different thicknesses and colors. Then he looked at me.

“Does the fishing gear at the house work?”

“I don't know. It's been a very long time since we used any of it.”

He turned around and picked the most expensive rod and reel on display.

Awki, to me, did not look impressed. He looked appalled at all the supplies Dad was purchasing.

Dad was enjoying himself. “Pops, pick a rod and reel.”

“Thanks, Son, I don't need one. I will make my own.”

“Awki, are you going to make your own rod and reel?”

“Not a rod and reel but I will make what I need to catch fish.”

“Awki, will you make me one too?”

“Of course, Alchi,” he said, tousling my hair.

“I don't need a rod and reel either. I'll use what Awki is going to make for me.”

Dad looked at Awki and sighed. “Pops, don't be silly. Pick a rod and reel.”

“Son, I don't need a rod and reel. I will make what I need,” replied Awki, tousling Dad's hair as he had tousled mine.

“Pops, what are you going to do? Cut a stick and tie some line? That may work in Peru but it will not work in the Black Hills. You need to cast far from shore.”

“I will cast farther than you. Using what I make, even Alchi will cast farther than you.”

“Cast farther than me? Your home-made contraption will cast farther than this state of the art fishing pole?” laughed Dad.

“Yes,” replied Awki.

“Wanna bet?”

“What will you bet?”

“If I win, you do as I say. No more running up ditches, and forcing me to call a tow truck,” said Dad, walking to the checkout stand.

“If I win, you come to visit me in Peru in the spring.”

“Deal! Done!” replied Dad, shaking Awki's hand.

“Daddy, it's spring! Are we going to Peru? ” I asked excitedly.

“Son, it's fall in Peru. When it's fall here, it will be spring in Peru. The seasons reverse when you cross the equator,” explained Dad, as we walked out of the store.

“Are we going to Peru in the fall? That would be so cool.”

“No, there is no way a homemade contraption is going to cast farther than a state of the art rod and reel,” laughed Dad, as we loaded the supplies into the pickup.

“One more thing,” said Dad.

“What?” asked Awki.

“I warn you two. Don't ask to borrow my rod and reel when your homemade contraption doesn't work.” He laughed and started the pickup.

Awki turned around, looked at me, winked, and smiled, letting me know that he knew something Dad did not.

“Awki, do you go camping in Peru?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. I go camping all the time, but I don't take my house with me.”

“Funny Pops, very funny,” said Dad, driving out of the parking lot and heading back home.

Chapter VII The Fishing Board

Awki went into the garage, found two square pieces of wood half an inch thick and about the length and width of a wallet. He examined the boards carefully. “Perfect,” he said.

“What are those for?” I asked.

Awki took his eyes off the boards and looked at me. “Alchi, we will fish with these.”

Like, seriously. How can you fish with a square piece of wood? Do you whack the fish with them? “Awki, how are we going to fish with those boards?”

“You will see, I will show you in a little bit. First, we need to prepare them.” He pointed at a drill. “Hand me that drill.” he said. I gave him the drill and he drilled a small hole into the corner of each board. After he was done drilling the holes, he gave me one of the boards, along with a piece of sandpaper.

“Sand the edges so they are rounded and smooth,” he said, as he began to sand the edges of his board.

Awki sure has some strange ways. Wonderfully strange ways. We sanded the wallet-sized pieces of wood until all the edges were rounded and smooth.

“Sand the flat surfaces too. Make sure the entire board is very smooth,” he said, sanding the flat part of his board on both sides.

I did as Awki asked, and when done, I had a board that was smooth all over.

He went into the house, came out with two spools of fishing line, and gave me one.

He threaded the line through the hole at the end of his board and began to wind the fishing line across the width of the board.

I copied him, but still did not understand how we could use these boards to fish.

After a few minutes, he cut the line and tied a weight at the end of each line.

“Let's go outside, you need to practice.”

“Don't I need a hook on my line?”

“When we go fishing it will have a hook. Now, it's safer to practice without one.”

I was going to argue but remembered the sling practice experience and changed my mind.

Awki pointed his board towards the ground, the weight fell to the ground and the fishing line started to peel off.

“Look,” he said, pointing at the line peeling off the board.

“That is the reason we sandpaper the boards. See how easily the line comes off?”

“Yes,” I replied watching Awki closely.

He flipped the board horizontally. “See how I flipped the board back up to stop the line from spooling off?”

“Yes, but how are we going to fish with them?”

Awki wound the line back on his board and then dropped two feet of line.

“Alchi, watch.” He held the line in his right hand between his index finger and his thumb and held the fishing board with his left hand. He began to swing the line like a sling and then let go of the line while pointing the board in the direction he had released the line.

The weight and the line went up in a high arch and landed far, far away.

“Wow!” I said. “I've never seen anyone cast that far. That is like so cool!”

“Try yours,” said Awki. “Swing the line like you swing your sling, aim like you aim your sling, release like your release your sling. Just remember to point the board with the fishing line in the same direction you are casting.”

The first time I tried, I forgot to turn the board in the direction I had cast the lead and the board was snapped out of my hand.

“If that happens on a river, that board is gone,” laughed Awki. “Remember to point your board in the same direction you are casting.”

My second time, the cast was perfect. Oh, yeah. I got this. I can cast farther than anyone. Well not farther than Awki, but farther than anyone else.

“If you don't have a fish, wind your line back into the board like this,” he said, winding his line back.

I wound mine back and tried a cast again. Not as bad as my first try, not as good as my second.

After a bit of practice, I was getting the hang of it and casting easily. My sling practice helped me to quickly learn how to cast a line using a Peruvian fishing board.

“Hold on, don't wind the line back,” said Awki after one of my casts.

“When we are fishing, hold the line between your thumb and your index finger like this.”

“What for, Awki?”

“So can you feel when the fish are biting.” He pulled the line as if he was a fish and I felt it on my index finger.

“That is so cool.”

“Every fish has a different way of taking the bait,” said Awki. “I can tell what type of fish I have caught before I pull it off the water.”

“Really?”

“Yes, this is how a flounder bites,” he said, doing strong, paused jerks on the line. “This is how smelt bites,” he said, doing quick light jerks on the line.

“This is a brown trout, this is a rainbow trout,” said Awki, doing different jerks on each type of fish.

“How do I set the hook?” I asked.

“Like this,” said Awki, holding the line with his right hand and doing an upward chop on the line with his left hand.

“Wow, that is fast. Won't the line cut your hand?”

“It does not have to be too hard. You only need to drive the hook in.”

“Can you really tell what type of fish you caught before pulling it out of the water,” I asked, wondering if Awki was messing with me.

“Yes, Alchi, I will show you when we go fishing in the Black Hills. Now, show me how you are going to wind a fish once you hook it,” asked Awki holding the line in between his hands.

I began to wind the line and Awki started to put more pressure on. I kept pulling harder and harder.

Then Awki yanked the line, and the board went flying out of my hands.

“If you catch a big fish you have to feel when the fish is ready to turn and run so you can turn the board towards the fish. Once the fish gets tired and stops running, you can wind the line back up again. If the fish turns and runs and you don't turn the board, it will pull the board right out of your hand as I just did,” said Awki and watched Dad drive up the driveway.

Dad got out of the car and pointed at the boards. “Is that what you are going to use to fish?”

“Yes.”

“Pops, you are insane,” laughed Dad.

Awki and I followed Dad into the house.

He closed the door. “You are going to cast farther than me and my state of the art road and reel with a board? That's funny,” laughed Dad.

If you only knew Dad, if you only knew.

Chapter VIII The Dream

Dad had said we would leave early on Thursday and Dad always followed through on his plans. We left the house early Thursday morning, when the sun was only a sliver of yellow light on the horizon, and arrived at the Black Hills late in the afternoon, the sun turning from yellow to orange.

At the entrance, as if welcoming us, there was a buffalo herd grazing on the prairie. We got out of the pickup.

“Leave the doors open, stay within arm’s length of the pickup. If the buffalo come close to us, get in the car and close the door,” Dad said as he took pictures of the grazing buffalo.

“This is a sacred place,” said Awki.

“Pops, what was that?”

“This is a sacred place.”

“Pops, a couple of centuries ago it was sacred to the Lakota and other native tribes. Now, the Black Hills are a tourist attraction.”

“We must ask permission.”

“Pops, ask permission? I already paid for a weekend pass. Who are we going to ask permission from?”

“From the spirits.”

“The spirits? Really? Pops, this is the twenty-first century. There are no spirits!”

“Stay here,” said Awki walking directly into the buffalo herd.

“Pops, wait! Those are wild animals.”

I walked up to Dad. “Is it dangerous?”

Dad looked at me. “Those are wild buffalo, and can be dangerous.”

Dad looked back at Awki. “Pops, don't be a fool! Pops come back!”

Awki walked farther and farther into the prairie. He was soon surrounded by the buffalo herd and we could barely see him.

“Look! A white buffalo!” I said, tugging at my dad's shirt.

“Where? Where?”

“Right there, by Awki.”

“That is a rock, son. White buffaloes are extremely rare.”

“No daddy, it's a white buffalo. I saw it move! Look Awki is touching his head.”

“No Son. It’s a rock and Pops is just leaning on it. Well...” Dad squinted. “It doesn't matter. Pops is coming back.”

“It was a white buffalo, I'm sure,” I said, watching Awki get closer and closer.

“Whatever, Son,” replied Dad. Awki stopped by our side and looked at the buffalo herd. Then he walked past Dad and got into the pickup. “We have permission.”

Dad climbed into the pickup. “Pops, permission from whom? What are you talking about?”

“I already told you, permission from the spirits. This is an ancient place, a sacred place.”

Dad laughed and started the pickup. “From the Spirits? Really Pops?”

Awki did not reply, he just looked out the window.

We drove away from the buffalo and onto a road that wound down to the valley below us. As we drove down, a small herd of mountain goats crossed our path and jumped the road rails. Dad brought the pickup to a stop by the side of the road. We jumped out and ran to the rail to see the goats run down the mountain.

The view was breathtaking. Tree covered mountains, crystal clear streams and lakes. The smell of pine in the cool spring air.

“An island of trees in a sea of grass,” said Dad.

“Daddy, what?”

“Son, many people say the Black Hills are an island of trees in a sea of grass.”

I looked at the beauty in front of me. I can't think of a better description.

At the bottom of the mountain, I saw a small valley running south to north, cut in half by a hill that ran east to west.

Dad pointed to the north side of the valley. “We will camp over there.”

The goats reached the top of the hill that split the valley, looked at us, and headed south, away from the campsites, and into the trees.

“Can we camp there?” I asked, pointing in the direction the goats had gone.

“No, that is not one of the places designated for camping,” explained Dad.

A park ranger pulled up and stopped his pickup near ours. He got out, walked to where we were and stood by our side.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, stretching by the rail.

“Yes. It’s unbelievable,” said Dad.

“I've worked here for over half a century, ever since I was his age,” the ranger said pointing at me and then looked at the hill. “I still love the view. I'll never tire of this view.”

“Have you ever seen a white buffalo?” asked Dad.

“A white buffalo? I've never seen one,” replied the ranger.

“Has anyone ever seen a white buffalo in these hills?”

“I've never met anyone who has.”

“Well, Son, as I told you, that was a rock and not a white buffalo,” said Dad.

“Well... Now that I think about it, one person claims to have seen a white buffalo. An old Lakota warrior that lives there,” said the Ranger, pointing to the south side of the valley.

“A Lakota? What's a Lakota?” I asked.

“The Lakota were a great Indian tribe that lived in the Black Hills many years ago. An old Lakota warrior still lives here and claims that a white buffalo leads that herd by the entrance. No one else but him has ever seen that white buffalo,” explained the ranger.

“I saw it too,” I said.

The ranger looked at me and smiled. “You did? Well... now I know two people that have seen the white buffalo.”

“I thought no one could camp outside designated areas,” said Dad.

“You mean the old Lakota warrior? He's an old man and has lived there all his life. He doesn't bother us, we don't bother him,” said the ranger, and then he walked to his pickup.

He climbed into his pickup. “Well, folks, you enjoy your visit to the Black Hills,” he said, then started the pickup and drove off.

We drove to our designated camping area, put up the eight-person tent, set up the campsite, and ate a quick dinner. By the time we were done, it was dark and we were tired. We crawled into our sleeping bags and were soon asleep.

Late in the night, Awki shook me awake and put his finger in front of his lips.

“Be quiet, don't wake up your dad,” he whispered. He stepped silently out of the tent and motioned for me to follow him.

I stepped out as silently as I could.

The white buffalo stood outside the tent. The ground was covered with snow and, although there were snowflakes dancing in the air, I was not cold. I had to be dreaming.

“Come, bring your sling,” whispered Awki. Then he turned around and started to jog towards a hill, followed by the white buffalo.

I jogged after Awki all the way to the hill and then jogged up the hill. I didn't slip once and in spite of all the running, I was not tired. I imagine one doesn't get tired in their own dreams.

I recognized the place. It was where the mountain goats had stopped. But what happened to the roads on the mountains? The mountains were there, but there were no roads.

I looked towards the campsite and all the tents were gone. There were thousands, maybe millions of buffalo. What happened to all the campsites? And where did all these buffalo come from?

It was a dream... but it felt so real.

I looked at the other side of the hill and saw fires and tepees. I heard people laughing and having fun.

Neither the fires, nor the tepees, nor the people were here earlier in the day. Where did all these people come from?

“Come,” said Awki, starting to jog downhill. He followed a young warrior, heading towards the tepees.

“Who is he? What happened to the white buffalo?” I asked.

“Alchi, don't worry about that. Come along now, follow me.”

Once we got to the camp, Awki talked and mingled with the people. He played with the kids as if he had known them all their lives. I befriended the warrior's younger brother. He was about as old as I was, and had noticed my sling.

“Let's go and practice,” he said. I followed him to the edge of the camp.

The warrior and Awki saw us and joined us. They tied a piece of buffalo hide in between two young pine trees. We took turns shooting at the buffalo hide with the sling.

The warrior was good, very good. Not as good as Awki, but still very good. He missed about once every twenty shots, and Awki, very politely, missed every time the warrior missed.

The warrior's younger brother was not as polite as Awki. He didn't miss when I missed. Jerk.

“It's time to go back,” said Awki.

“Awki, do we have to? This is so much fun,” I asked, bending down to pick up another stone. When I stood up and was ready to shoot I noticed that the buffalo hide was gone, and the tepees were gone, and instead of a young warrior, there was an old warrior speaking with Awki.

“For you my friend,” said Awki, handing the old warrior his sling.

The old warrior took the smooth stone I held in my hand, caressed it and gave it to Awki. “For you my friend. It will save your grandson's life,” he said, as he gave Awki the stone.

And then, the old warrior was gone. It was just Awki and me. This is such a strange dream.

Awki handed me the stone. “Put it on the ground. We will come for the stone before we leave the Black Hills.”

I took the stone and looked at it. The word AWKI had been etched into the stone.

“Awki, whose life is this stone going to save?”

“You are my only grandson; it must be your life that it will save. Put the stone down on the ground, we will come back for the stone before we leave the Black Hills,” repeated Awki. Then he began to jog towards the hill.

How did the Lakota warrior etch 'AWKI' into the stone? He only caressed the stone? I put the stone down on the ground, jogged after Awki and remembered. It's just a dream; anything is possible in a dream.

We jogged up the hill and I saw that the roads on the mountains, the tents, campsites and the cars, were back. Everything was as it should be. We jogged down the hill, and into the campsite. I got into the tent and was soon tightly tucked into my sleeping bag.

I closed my eyes, and in my dream, I dreamt of buffaloes, and warriors, and slings, and a stone with the word AWKI etched on it that one day would save my life.

Chapter IX Trout Fishing

By the time I woke up on Friday, the sun was already up, well above the horizon. It would have been early morning in the city but it's late in the day when you are camping. I crawled out of my sleeping bag, stretched, went out of the tent, and looked around.

Dad was working on his laptop, using the satellite service to connect to the Internet.

I looked at Awki. A few branches cut to a sharp point laid by his side. He was holding another branch and carving it with his knife.

I walked over to him. “What are you doing, Awki?”

“I need to sharpen these branches, to catch some worms.”

“Are we going fishing?”

“Yes.”

I bent down, grabbed one of the branches and looked at it. “How will we catch worms with these?”

“I will show you when we get to the lake. Can you get the fishing boards out of the tent?”

I ran into the tent, got the fishing boards and stopped by Dad on my way out. “Daddy, are coming with us?”

“Son, I have to send a couple of very important e-mails. I'll catch up with you both soon.”

“Do you ever have un-important e-mails?”

Dad gave me a pissed off look.

“Okay, Daddy,” I said, and ran to Awki.

Awki and I walked over a small hill, in between some trees, and arrived at a small lake. A big man with a big hat, and his son, a kid about my age, were sitting on a large rock. Their fishing poles were by their sides, their fishing floats a few feet into the lake.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“Pardner, we came all the way from Texas. Been here all mornin' and not even a bite. Where are you fellars from?” asked the man with the big hat.

“I'm from Nebraska and my grandpa is from Peru.”

“Pleasure to meet you fellars. I'm from Texas. Own a few oil fields down there. On vacation with my son. What brings you fellars to this here lake?”

“We're gonna fish trout.”

“With what? Where's your rod and reel?”

“With this,” I said, showing him my Peruvian fishing board.

“Listen, Son, I don't know how they do things in Mexico, but here in these United States of America, we use a rod and reel.”

I pointed at Awki. “Peru, my grandpa is from Peru.”

“Pardner, don't matter. You need to cast far into the lake to catch trout. You're not gonna catch anything dropping a line on that there shore. Here kid, borrow one of them rods. I have plenty,” said the big man with the big hat, handing me a big rod.

“No, thanks.”

“Well Pardner, even if you wanna catch itsy bitsy baby bluegills by that shore there, you're gonna need some bait,” said the man with the big hat.

He grabbed a bag full of salmon eggs. “Here, have some of them salmon eggs. I got plenty and trout ain't bitin' anyways.”

“Thanks, but we are going to catch worms with these branches,” I said, showing him one of the branches Awki had sharpened.

“And, kid, how are you gonna catch worms with them branches?”

“I don't know. Awki is going to show me how.”

“Can I go with them?” asked his son.

“Pardner, I'll go too. Nothin' bitin' in this here lake anyways.”

I shrugged.

“Awki, what kind of a name is Awki anyways?”

“Awki is Grandfather in Quechua,” I explained.

“Well Mr. Awki, pleasure to meet ya,” said the Texan.

Awki, who spoke no English, smiled.

The Texan got up. “Quechua, the language of the Inca's. One of the greatest civilizations in the Americas,” he said, wiping his pants.

This Texan acts dumb but I don't think he is.

Awki walked away from the shoreline, stopped under some trees, and buried the trimmed branches into the ground.

He hit the branches with a stick, and the branches started vibrating, but nothing happened.

He waited a few seconds and hit the branches again.

“Awki, nothing is happening.”

“Is this like Bolivian witchcraft?” asked the man with the big hat.

“Peruvian, my grandpa is Peruvian,” I said. I was a little annoyed.

“Look, a worm!” yelled the Texan kid pointing at the ground.

“Patience,” said Awki, hitting the branches once more.

Another worm came out, then another, and yet another.

“Well, I'll be...” said the Texan, taking his hat off and scratching his balding head.

“Grandpa says you can do the same thing with a pitchfork. Find moist ground with leaves on top, bury the pitchfork, hit it so it vibrates, and worms will come out.”

“I'll be... Pardner, can't wait to get back to Texas and win me some bets on this Chilean trick,” laughed the Texan as we walked back to the lake.

“Peruvian trick. Peruvian!” I yelled.

“I know, I know... Peruvian. Just joshin' with you, Pardner.” The Texan laughed again as we got to the shoreline.

“Well stop joshin' with me. Mr. Quechua, the language of the Inca's,” I mumbled.

The Texan laughed out loud and knelt by my side “You are a smart kid. But son, sometimes it is better if people don't know how smart you are.” He was serious and a bit intimidating.

He stood up. “Well let's go and catch us some fish with these here worms,” he said. The same jovial Texan we met earlier in the day.

I looked at the Texan. “Is that a lesson? Did you just teach me something?”

“Of course, Pardner. A smart kid like you would figure it out. Let's go and catch us some trout with this here worms.”

We followed the Texan back to the lake. By the time we arrived, Dad was already there.

I approached Dad. “Any luck?”

“Not even a bite.”

“Pardner, that is a fine rod and reel you have there,” said the Texan, walking towards Dad for a closer look.

“Thanks,” said Dad, then cast his line into the lake as far as he could. “State of the art. With this rig, no one will cast farther than me.”

Dad turned around, looked at Awki and me, and smiled smugly.

“Pardner, that is a fine cast,” said the Texan, checking his own fishing pole.

Awki knelt by the shoreline and surveyed the lake. He took his fishing board out, dropped two feet of line, swung the line like a sling and cast about twenty feet farther into the lake than Dad had.

The Texan whistled. “Damn! That is a fine cast.”

Awki had not cast far. I could easily cast farther than Awki had. I took my board out, dropped two feet of line, swung the line like a sling, and cast about fifteen feet farther into the lake than Awki had.

The Texan whistled again. “Damn! Pardner did ya see that little kid there cast?”

“Looks like I will be going to Peru after all,” replied Dad.

I looked at Awki and smiled.

Awki looked at me. He had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and devilish grin.

“Peru? Why do ya have to go to Peru?” asked the Texan.

“Lost a bet. Bet Pops, my dad, that I could cast farther than him,” replied Dad, and from the way he said it, I don't think he was upset at losing the bet.

“Pardner... you ain't casting farther than your old man there. Heck, you ain't casting farther than your son there either. Never seen anyone cast like that. And with boards, go figure!”

“Alchi, you are too far into the lake. Trout are not that far out. Pull your line back,” said Awki.

“What did this old man there say?” asked the Texan.

“He says I cast too far into the lake. He says I need to pull the line closer to the shore, close to where he cast his line.”

“I can't cast that far. How does he know where them trout are at anyways?” asked the Texan.

“In Peru, Awki is a fisherman,” I explained.

“What did he say now?” asked the Texan watching Awki closely

“He says a brown trout is biting on his line.”

“Wait a second, Pardner. He can tell what fish is bitin' on that underwater line there? Now, that is a Texas size tale,” laughed the Texan.

Awki pulled his line out of the lake.

“Maybe not,” he corrected himself, looking at the brown trout at the end of Awki's line.

“Awki, there is something biting on my line. What is it?” I asked as soon as Awki had unhooked his trout.

Awki came over to where I was, felt my line, and hooked the fish.

“Awki says it's a rainbow trout,” I said, pulling my line. Sure enough, a rainbow trout was at the end.

“Now, Son. How does your grandpa there know what kinda fish are bitin' on that line there?” asked the Texan.

“Every fish takes the bite differently. You can't tell on a fishing pole but when you hold the line on your hand, like my grandpa does, you can feel it,” I explained.

“I'll be...” said the Texan, but Awki spoke before he could finish.

“Hey,” I said, looking at the Texan kid. “Awki says he just hooked another rainbow trout. Would you like to pull it?”

“Oh yes. Daddy can I, can I?” he asked, looking at his Dad.

“Sure, Son. The only way we are going to catch anythin' is with that Argentinian contraption,” said the big Texan.

I gave him a pissed off look.

“I know... Not Argentinian. Peruvian, Peruvian contraption. Just messing with ya, Pardner,” he said, correcting himself and laughing as he rubbed his big belly.

The Texan pointed at the fishing board I held in my hand. “Pardner, can you show me how to use that contraption?”

“Sure,” I said, and cut the hook off the line.

“Pardner, won't I need a hook?”

“Safer to practice without a hook. Once you learn how to cast with the board, we will put the hook back on,” I explained.

Awki smiled.

Awki and I spent the next couple of hours teaching Dad, the Texan, and his son, how to use the Peruvian fishing board.

For a big Texan that did not seem all that smart, he learned quickly. Boy, can he act the dumb role. After practicing for half an hour or so, I put the hook back on his line, watched him cast his line, and watched him catch his first trout.

He hollered and hooted and jumped around making a big fuss. For a big fat guy, he sure acted a lot like a little kid.

“Pardner, can I buy this Peruvian contraption from you? Give you anything you want. I own oil rigs and have all kinds of money.”

“You can have the boards for free. Awki taught me how to make them, I can make more.”

“Well, Pardner, then you must accept this hat here. My gift,” said the Texan, putting his hat on my head. “That hat there may be big now, but you'll grow into it,” laughed the Texan, rubbing his big belly.

Dad looked at me. “Well, between Pop's and you, we have caught our limit. We should head back to camp and cook these trout while they are still fresh.”

“Bye, and... thanks for the boards, the lessons, and a good time. Take care, Pardner,” said the big Texan, as we walked away.

His kid waved at me, I waved back and then ran back to our campsite.

“Can we cook the trout in a campfire?” I asked when Dad and Awki got to the campsite.

“Son, I bought a stove.”

“But a campfire will be a lot more fun. Come on Daddy, we are camping, roughing it.”

“Okay Son, okay. Are you going to want Pops to make the fire by rubbing a couple of sticks too?”

“Daddy, that would be so cool.”

“Son, if you want me to, I can show you how to make a fire with two sticks,” said Awki.

“Seriously, Pops? You can teach me how to make a fire with a couple of sticks?”

“Awki, teach Daddy, please?” I begged.

“Okay, Alchi. Go collect some wood,” said Awki, as he grabbed a stone with a sharp edge. He used the edge of the stone to carve a groove on a stick. Then he took his knife out and carved another stick to a sharp point.

“Awki, wait until I get back. I want to learn too,” I said, running to get some wood.

It took me only a few minutes to collect an armload of sticks. I came back and laid them down by Dad's side. “Okay, Awki” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“Son, sit down and hold this between your feet,” said Awki, handing Dad the stick with the groove.

“Now, rub the pointed end up and down the groove, pressing down as hard as you can,” said Awki, handing Dad the pointed stick.

Dad began to rub the stick up and down as Awki had instructed.

“When smoke comes out put a little tinder on the groove, by the smoke, and blow until flames come out.”

Dad was starting to sweat.

“Pops, nothing is happening,” he said.

“You are doing everything right, Son. Don't give up, it takes a bit of time and effort,” replied Awki.

“Okay, Pops. For the record, this is hard work,” replied Dad, trying to catch his breath.

After a few minutes Dad was drenched in sweat but did not give up. Finally, a whiff of white smoke came out.

Dad dropped the stick, put a little tinder on top of the smoke, blew on it, and a little flame began to consume the tinder.

“Ha! Got it! Son, hand me some of those leaves. Hurry!”

I gave Dad the leaves he had pointed at. Some were wet, and the flame went out.

“I'm not doing this again. You do it,” said Dad, handing Awki the trimmed stick and the stick with the groove.

Awki pulled a lighter out of his back pocket, lit the tinder and started a fire.

“Much easier that way,”

“Funny, Pops... very funny.”

Chapter X The Return Trip

Saturday, Dad and Awki were already up by the time I woke. I stepped out of the tent. The sun was barely above the horizon, there was a slight chill in the air, the green of spring all around us.

“Son, today is our last day in the Black Hills. What would you like to do?”

“Let's go hiking there. Over the hill.”

“What hill, Son?”

“Daddy, the hill we saw the goats run into.”

“Ah, that one. Okay, Son. It will take us a while to get there. Let's bring lunch.”       “Daddy, great idea. Let's bring some hot dogs, and build a fire, and...”

“Okay, okay. You get the hot dogs, I'll get the buns.”

Dad looked at Awki. “Pops, got the lighter? I'm not rubbing sticks to start a fire.”

Awki smiled.

That hill looks to be much farther away than it did in my dream.

After a two hour hike, we reached the top of the hill. Dad and I were out of breath.

Dad sat down. “Let's rest under this tree. Get a little bit of shade.”

I sat by Dad's side and looked south. The place looked familiar. It looked exactly as it had in my dream. How could that be? A coincidence.

We rested for a few minutes, taking in the view, then we stood and began to walk down the hill. By the time we reached the bottom, it was close to noon.

“Son, go and gather some wood to make a fire. Get some long, thin sticks to roast the hot dogs,” Dad instructed.

“I will get everything ready for the fire,” said Awki.

As I collected the wood I could not help but notice how much this place resembled the place I had seen in my dream. I was not sure it was a coincidence anymore.

By the time I got back, Awki had cleared some ground and made a circle of stones.

“Alchi, when you make a fire, you must make sure there is nothing flammable close to the place where the fire will be. One little spark can light up a forest.”

“Yes, Awki.”

“Use a circle of stones to contain the fire,” explained Awki as Dad brought the hot dogs to us.

“Yes, Awki,” I replied and watched Awki light up the tinder.

“Daddy, you know what?”

Dad inserted a hot dog into a stick and gave it to me. “What?”

I put the hot dog on the flames and watched it roast. “I've been here before.” I was sure this was the place I had seen in my dream.

“You've never been here,” replied Dad.

I checked my hot dog. It was not ready yet. “I've been here, in a dream,”

“You've never been here,” repeated Dad.

“Alchi has been here before,” said Awki, taking his hot dog out of the fire and placing it into a bun.

“You both are nuts. And son, your hot dog is burning,” laughed Dad.

“I like it burnt,” I lied, pulling my hot dog out of the fire and putting it into a bun.

Awki stood up. “I am going to say goodbye to a friend,” he said, and then walked towards the woods.

“Pops, what friend? There is no one here.”

I finished my hot dog quickly. “Dad, I'm going with Awki.”

“Okay, whatever. Be careful. I'll put the fire out.”

I ran after Awki. “Okay, Daddy,” I yelled back.

“Don't be too long. We need to get back to camp and start packing!” yelled Dad.

I did not answer, but kept on running, and caught up with Awki.

“Alchi, can you hear that?” asked Awki.

“Hear what?”

“Do you hear the voices of people long gone?”

“Awki, it's just the breeze on the trees,” I replied.

“Listen, really listen.”

I listened, and the more I listened, the more that the breeze blowing amongst the leaves sounded like the voices of people in my dream. Could it be?

When we got to a small clearing, there was an old warrior sitting on a rock. He was the warrior in my dream.

“Come with me,” said Awki.

Awki sat by the side of the old warrior and they spoke in a language I did not understand.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the wind blowing through the trees.

I heard the children laughing, the women talking, the men arguing, it was so familiar.

“Alchi, wake up,” said Awki tapping me on the shoulder.

I was not asleep, or was I?

We started to walk back. After a few steps, I turned and for a brief moment, I saw a white buffalo by the rock on which Awki and the old warrior had been talking, and then the buffalo was gone.

By the time we got back to Dad, he had put the fire out and cleaned the site. “Pops, did you say goodbye to your friend?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Daddy, Awki's friend is the old Lakota warrior that lives here.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I saw them talking. You know what else?”

“What?”

“His friend is the white buffalo.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“When we were leaving I turned back and the white buffalo was where the old Lakota warrior had been standing.”

“Son, you have a great imagination. You would be a great writer.”

“Really?” I asked, mocking Dad.

I recognized the place we were walking through. It was the place where I had left the rock with AWKI etched on it.

I began to look around for the stone. “Wait,” I said.

“Son, what are you looking for?”

“A stone.”

“Son, there are plenty of stones, just pick one,” said Dad.

“No Daddy, this a special stone.”

Dad bent down and picked a stone in front of him. “Son, a stone is just a stone. Here, have this one,” he said, and tossed me the stone he had just picked up.

I caught the stone. It was the stone in my dream. The word AWKI was etched into the stone.

I pointed the inscription to Dad. “Look!”

Dad, came over and looked at the inscription. “Ha! What are the odds,” he laughed.

“Odds? Daddy, what are you talking about?”

“Well, Son, what are the chances of a Quechua-speaking person coming to the Black Hills, coming to this spot, etching AWKI into a stone, and us finding it?”

“Daddy, you don't understand.”

“Chances are almost zero, Son. When you get into high school and study stats, you'll understand.”

“No, you don't understand. I saw this stone in my dream. I was here in my dream!”

“Son, don't be silly. Some Quechua-speaking person visited the Black Hills and left that stone here. Lots of tourists come to the Black Hills.”

“Daddy, this is the stone from my dream.”

“Okay son, whatever. Listen, we have to go back to our camp and pack. On our way back home you can tell me about your dream.”

We hiked back to the campsite, and soon had everything packed in the pickup.

I took a look at the hill. I will come back, I promise I will come back. I climbed into the pickup.

On the way back to Lincoln, I told Dad all about the dream I had about the stone with the word AWKI etched on it.

“Son, you have a great imagination. I think you'll make a great writer.”

Chapter XI Life After Awki

We drove Awki to the Omaha airport on a gray, misty day; it was time for him to return to Peru. The weather reflected my mood.

I wished he could stay in Nebraska, live with Dad and me but Awki had to go back to Peru, he had to return. His life was on the other side of the Americas.

We got to the airport, parked, and took Awki's bag out of the trunk. He didn't buy much, we didn't buy him much.

We walked into the Airport terminal. We had not talked much.

Awki knelt by my side, “Alchi, I will see you soon in Peru.”

I had managed not to cry but could not hold it any longer. “I will miss you Awki.”

Awki stood up.” Alchi, things are going to be different now,” he said.

What does he mean by that? How will things be different?

Awki gave Dad a hug and walked towards the airport security scanner. He stopped, turned around and looked at us. “Son, remember your promise. Visit me in Peru.”

“Pops, I'll be there early in the spring. I promise,” yelled Dad.

Dad always kept his promises. I could hardly wait until our trip to Peru.

Fall in the States, spring in Peru. Seasons change when you cross the Equator.

Much did happen before the fall.

Awki had changed Dad. Dad did not go on as many business trips, we visited Grandpa Crester more often, and Dad joined a first division soccer team in the Lincoln Amateur Soccer Association.

“Son, I'm getting old. Once I played with the best. Now the worst team in the division takes me only because they need one more player.”

“Well, at least you made a first division team.” I was so proud of Dad.

“Several players suggested I play second division. I only made a first division team because they are a player short.”

“Well, they may be a player short, but they are a first division team and you are a first division player,” I said.

“Not good enough. I'm not fit to play first division. I'm going to hire a trainer to get back in shape.”

Dad hired a trainer and worked very hard. The workouts were rough on him. The first week he could barely walk after the workouts, the second week was better, but not by much.

His first game was very disappointing to him. He spent most of the game on the substitute bench. The few times he was on the field, he was outrun and outmaneuvered by players half his age.

“They are not that good, but they are so fast. I envy their youth. Son, I miss my youth and my strength.”

Dad is very competitive. He began to practice with the soccer ball after working out with the trainer.

Soon the efforts began to pay off.

“Great pass, old man,” yelled his teammates, surprised at Dad's accuracy and soccer I.Q. Each game, he got more and more playing time.

As he got back into shape, his game began to come back to him. What he lacked in youth and speed, he made up in skill and experience.

“Watch out. Don't let the old man get past you. He'll use your speed against ya.”

“I can't defend the old guy. You think he's going to dribble, he shoots. You think he's going to shoot, he dribbles.”

Gradually he was less and less a sub, and more and more a regular. Then, one day, a starter, and soon the best player in the team and, in my opinion, the best player in the league.

Grandpa Crester came often to watch the games.

“Look at how he controls the ball.”

“What a pass.”

“Goal! What a great goal.”

For someone that did not understand soccer, Grandpa Crester sure yelled a lot.

In those few months, I saw Grandpa Crester more than I had seen him since I was born.

Grandpa Crester, Dad, and I, spent a lot of time together.

Dad and I went to 'The Old Farm’ to visit Grandpa every other weekend.

Grandpa Crester came to visit every other weekend. We went out to eat, or out to the movies, or we just stayed at home and played board games. We had such a good time.

I loved Grandpa Crester as much as I loved Awki.

Grandpa Crester died at summer's end. His heart gave out while working on 'The Old Farm’.

“Son, Grandpa died doing what he liked to do, he died in a place he loved. Not many people are so lucky,” said Dad the day Grandpa died, trying to put forth a strong face and a positive spin.

Dad did not cry as I did. At least I never saw him cry, but I think he was hurting. I know he was hurting.

Grandpa Crester had left 'The Old Farm’ to his neighbor, and Dad honored Grandpa Crester's wishes. Dad knew Grandpa Crester's neighbor would take care of the land with as much love as Grandpa Crester had.

Dad sold the rest of the farm. He knew that neither he, nor I, would take to farming.

The day before the estate sale we got a condolence letter from Awki.

“They have some weird printers in Peru,” I said, looking at the markings on the paper.

“Why do you say that?” asked dad looking at the letter.

“Look at these letters. They make weird markings on the paper.”

Dad took the letter, looked at it and smiled. “Awki used a typewriter, not a computer.” It was the first smile I had seen on Dad since Grandpa Crester had died.

“I have never seen a letter written on a typewriter,” I replied.

“I think it's a manual typewriter. Not even an electric one.”

“How can you know that?”

“An electric typewriter will strike all letters with equal force and the indentations will be uniform. Look how deep the indentation is for the letter H, and how shallow the indentation is for the letter Q. The letters typed with the little finger don't have as much of an indentation. Your index finger is stronger than your little finger,” explained Dad.

I had never used a typewriter. “You think I could borrow a typewriter at school?” I asked.

“I don't think they have any typewriters at your school anymore. You may have to go to a museum to find one.”

After Grandpa Crester's estate was settled, Dad and I went camping almost every weekend. We spent a lot of time together on the computer. I showed him Internet games he did not know existed, he showed me search sites and business web sites I did not know existed.

He taught me soccer, I taught him the Waraka.

We needed each other.

Before we knew it, it was fall.

Fall in the States, spring in Peru!

Chapter XII The Trip To Peru

Dad and I arrived in Lima early in the Peruvian spring. Lima, the capital of Peru, is very much like any other large city. Tall buildings, busy streets, and plenty of pollution. In the United States, the plastic bottles are Pepsi Cola bottles, and in Lima, the plastic bottles are Inca Cola bottles. The drinks are not the same, but the plastic is the same pollutant.

From Lima we took a flight to Piura, a city in northern Peru. From Piura, we took a taxi to a non descript town by the side of the highway. Awki was waiting for us with a horse and two donkeys. One of the donkeys was loaded full of supplies, the other had none.

Dad looked at Awki. “Are you kidding Pops? A horse and a donkey, really?”

Awki pointed at an old... I don't know what it was. I think that at some point in time it was a pickup but the cargo area had been modified with wood to make it bigger, and an axle and wheels added.

“Well, Son, that truck will take us near to my village. It will drop us about fifteen miles away. There are no roads to the village. It's either walk or ride the donkey.”

“Is that thing even legal?” asked Dad.

Awki laughed. “Son, this is not United States. We will be fine, just get in.”

“Cool, a Frankenstein truck,” I said.

“What?” asked Dad.

“Daddy, look at it. It's a bunch of different things made into a truck. A Frankenstein Truck!”

Dad shook his head. “Whatever,” he said and went up the ramp and into the back of the Frankenstein truck. I followed, and Awki came behind pulling the horse and donkeys.

The truck driver turned the engine on. The truck shook, a small black cloud of smoke came out of the exhaust pipe, and the truck took off shaking as if it would fall apart at any moment.

“I'm going to regret this,” mumbled Dad.

This is so cool. I've never ridden in the back of a truck. I've never been in anything like this Frankenstein truck. Air on my face feels just great. “This is so much fun.”

Awki smiled.

Dad did not reply.

“Awki, why so many supplies?”

“Alchi, these are supplies for the entire village, enough for two weeks.”

The truck turned off the highway and headed west, into the desert.

After a couple of hours, the truck stopped at a crossroads.

“Off we go,” said Awki, lowering the ramp.

We got off the truck, and led the horse and donkeys down the ramp.

To the east, I could see the desert, and far, far away, some mountains. To the west, I saw only a desert that melted into the horizon.

“Well Pops, now what?” asked Dad.

Awki deftly got on the horse. “Get on the donkey and pull Alchi onto your lap.”

Dad did as Awki asked and we rode off the road, heading west into the desert that became one with the horizon.

We rode for two or three hours across the desert, and then we got to the edge of a very steep hill, with a very narrow trail descending to a small village on the beach.

“Whoa Pops. You want us to go down that road on the back of this donkey? We're going to get killed!”

“Son, year after year the donkey goes up and down the trail twice a month and the donkey is still alive. Alchi or you try to go down, and you will break a leg. Stay on the donkey!”

Awki rode down on the horse, Dad and I followed him on the donkey. It was a scary ride but we made it to the bottom in one piece.

The village was small, made up of a row of fifteen houses that faced the beach.       The houses were very small, made up of wood and cardboard, more huts than houses. Awki's was a blue house at the southern edge. The house had a living room and a single bedroom.

“Pops, where is the bathroom?”

“Son, community bathroom,” said Awki, pointing at a couple of wooden enclosures.

“Pops, are you serious? A community bathroom?”

“Yes, and there are no toilets in the bathroom,” replied Awki

“Awki, no toilets in the bathroom? What do you mean no toilets?”

“Alchi, just a hole in the ground. You squat. Squatting is much better for you than sitting on a toilet anyway.”

“Pops, what the heck?” asked Dad.

It was starting to get dark, and the people of the village were gathering driftwood and piling it on the beach.

“Pops, I see no lights. None of the houses have any lights.”

“No electricity, Son,” replied Awki.

“Awki, no Internet?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“No video games?”

“Nope.”

“What am I going to do for two weeks?” I asked.

“Pops. You're kidding, right?” asked Dad.

“Son, do you see any electrical towers, do you see any electrical wires? Do you remember any electrical towers on the desert?”

“Pops, okay. Very funny. Got me. Ha, ha. You do have a generator, right?” asked Dad.

“No, Son, we don't have a generator.”

“Well, you must have something. You must have a way to generate electricity, don't you?”

“No, Son. We don't need electricity,” replied Awki.

“You don't need electricity? Pops are you crazy?”

“Awki, we could have bought a generator. We are rich!” I said.

“Alchi, you have a lot of money, but you are not rich. You are very poor.”

“Daddy, why does Awki say we are very poor?”

“I don't know and I don't care! I need to get out of here. I can't stay here for two weeks without the Internet. I have a business to run. Let's turn around and go back!”

“Sorry, Son. The truck comes over once every two weeks. You have no way out. You can't cross the desert on foot.”

“Pops, are you telling me that I'm stuck here for two weeks without a way to run my business?” asked Dad wringing his hands.

“Alchi and you will be here until the truck comes back in a couple of weeks. How you use that time, it's up to you,” said Awki. He turned around and walked towards the fire the villagers had built by the beach.

It was night. I glanced up.

I did not know the sky could have so many stars. “Daddy, look at the sky. It's full of stars. So many stars.”

Dad did not look up. “I have to find a way out of here. This is insane. I can't live like this for two weeks.”

I stopped looking at the stars. I was worried too. “I'm going to be very bored. There is nothing to do here. No TV, no Internet, no Video games, just nothing to do.”

“I'm sorry Son. I should have done my research. Pops told me we would have the time of our lives. How could Pops do this to us? How could Pops lie to us?”

Every once in a while we heard a laugh from the villagers sitting around the fire but for the most part they were silent. They just sat and looked into the fire. It looked so boring.

“Daddy, what are they doing?” I asked, pointing at the villagers sitting by the fire.

“I don't know, Son. Maybe that's their entertainment. They build a fire every night, sit and look at it. Oh God! I have to get out of here.”

I laughed. “That's funny Daddy.”

Dad smiled. That was the highlight of the worst night of my life.

Dad kept searching for a way out, but there was none.

I had never been so bored in my entire life. I loved Awki, but was never coming back.

Or so I thought.

By the time we fell asleep it was late. We woke up close to noon and stepped out of the house.

The village was deserted.

“Daddy, where is everybody?”

“I don't know. Probably fishing, Son.”

“Where is Awki, I'm getting hungry.”

“I don't know, Son. I'm getting hungry too.”

It was well past noon when the boats came back.

Awki jumped off the boat. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Awki, I'm starving.”

“Pops, I'm starving too.”

Awki went to the village garden and picked a few lemons, tomatoes, onions and hot peppers.

On his way back, he went to the place where they had built the fire and pulled out some cooked yams from within the warm coals.

He filleted a couple of fish, cut the fillets into small squares and placed the squares in a bowl. He cut the lemons and squeezed the juice into the bowl. He cut some of the hot peppers and onions and mixed them with the fish.

He scooped the meat from the shellfish with his knife, mixed it with cut onions, tomatoes, and hot peppers, squirted lemon juice on top and gave a plate to Dad and me.

“Pops, you expect me to eat raw shellfish?” asked Dad.

I didn't care. I was starving. I took a small bite, and I followed with a spoonful.

“Hmmm, this is so good,” I said after a swallow. “It's really, really good.”

“Lapas, you can eat them raw,” explained Awki.

Dad took a small bite as I had done, then a big spoonful and was quickly done with his dish.

“Oh, my God. Pops, that is so good.”

Awki handed a plate of the lemon cooked fish, hot peppers, lettuce, onion, and yams to Dad and me. “Ceviche,” he said.

It was the most delicious meal I had ever had. I'm sure nothing in the world tastes as good as Ceviche made from freshly caught fish.

Maybe this trip will not be so bad after all.

After lunch, the village went for a siesta, a nap.

Dad and I went for a walk on the beach and then for a swim but we were still very bored and Dad constantly worried about his business.

After the nap, the villagers decided to play a game of soccer. I was on Awki's team. Dad had to watch the game, Awki didn't let him join.

I had not played much soccer and was not very good, but the villagers still passed me the ball often and celebrated every time I managed to do something right.

It was a strange game. Every time anyone made a play, everyone celebrated, and I could tell the opposing team was letting me score. It was so much fun.

“Pops, can I get in? I'm dying to play,” said Dad.

“What's the score?” asked Awki.

“You guys are winning by two goals.”

“Son, you can't get in. You have to learn to play.”

“Pops, I know how to play. I'm much better than anyone on the field,” replied Dad angrily.

Awki did not reply but did not let Dad into the game.

Early evening the villagers lit a fire on the beach. Dad and I sat with them. They cooked some fish and some potatoes. They talked while the meal was cooking, but as the sun set and the stars came out, they gradually became silent. Soon everyone was silent as they had been the night before. The only noise was the crackle of the fire.

Dad and I got bored, and went out for a walk on the beach.

Dad told me things about his childhood I had never known.

I told him how much I had missed him when he went on trips, and how much I enjoyed doing things with him.

After Grandpa Crester died, Dad and I had talked, but never as long as we did that night.

We walked and talked. Sat and talked. Got up again, walked and talked. We talked and talked and the hours flew by. Something changed in Dad and me that night. We bonded more than we ever had. It was a special night.

By the time we fell asleep, it was late.

We woke up close to noon and stepped out.

Once again, the village was deserted.

“We missed them again.”

“Son, we are going to have to go to bed earlier. We need to wake up at the time they wake up.”

Like the day before, it was well past noon when the boats came back.

Like the day before, Dad and I were starving.

Unlike the day before, we did not have Ceviche or Lapas but a fish soup that was just as good.

Like the day before, the villagers took a nap and played a game of pickup soccer after the nap.

This time, Dad did not ask if he could play. He watched the game from the sidelines and laughed, encouraged, joked and celebrated.

“What's the score?” asked Awki when players stopped playing to get a drink of water.

“I don't know, Pops. I've been having so much fun watching everyone play that I haven't kept track of the score. The score doesn't matter.”

“Okay Son, you can play. But Son...”

“Pops, I know. It's not about scoring goals or winning. It's about having a good time. Figured that one out,” interrupted Dad, as he stepped into the game.

Dad could have easily scored, but did not. Dad could have easily taken the ball away from opposing players but did not. Instead, Dad made an effort to make others look good, making beautiful passes to his teammates, and letting opposing players get past him. Especially the very old and the very young.

When the game ended, the adults were congratulating Dad and telling him how good he was, and the kids were asking him to show them soccer tricks.

We went to bed at the same time as the rest of the village.

“Daddy?”

“What Son?”

“At home, I have always seen important people give you many awards, and have heard them make speeches in your honor.”

“Yes, Son, so what?” asked Dad.

“Daddy, I don' know why but... I was never proud of you.”

“I know Son. They honored me for my money and the contributions I gave them. Those awards meant nothing to me. I am glad to know they meant nothing to you.”

“Daddy?”

“What Son?”

“I was very proud of you today.”

“Good night Son.”

Chapter XIII The Best Day of My Life

The best day of my life just happened to be our last day in the village.

Dad and I woke up before the sun came up. We stepped out and saw the fishermen had been up long before us and were ready to take off on their boats.

“Daddy, do you think we can go with them?”

“Pops, can we go with you?”

“Sure Son, come over to my boat,” replied Awki.

The boats were small, little more than canoes. Although one could hold up to four people, they were typically operated by two or three.

They had small outboard motors and no cabins.

The fishermen on Awki's boat jumped out and went to other boats. Dad and I jumped in with Awki.

Awki started the engine and we took off into a black sea where the moon danced in the waves. After about an hour Awki turned the engine off, and we laid the nets as the sun came up, turning the black sea into emerald green, and the desert into brilliant swaths of red, orange and yellow.

“Pops, this is unbelievable. I've been all over the world, and I've never seen anything like this.”

“I never tire of these sunrises,” replied Awki.

“Awki, what are we fishing for?”

“Smelt,” replied Awki. He pointed at an outcrop of rocks. “When we are done laying out the nets we will head to that small island.”

“Island, Pops? That's not much more than a bunch of rocks. No green, no vegetation. Does it even have a beach?” laughed Dad.

“It has a beach, Son. Do not be fooled. That 'bunch of rocks', as you call it, is more than you see. Like so many things in life, it is what you make out of it. At day's end, you will have been very bored on a rock, or you will have had a great time on an island. Like so many things in life, it is up to you.”

“Awki, what will we do on the island?”

“We will fish flounders, Alchi, and cook lunch, and dive off the reefs, and surf, and visit the underwater cave.”

“Pops, how are we going to surf? We have no surf boards.”

“We don't need surf boards Son, we will body surf the way people have done it since the time of the Inca's.”

It took us the better part of two hours to lay the nets. By then the sun was starting to rise in the sky, and the day turning hot. Awki started the engine, and pointed the boat towards the small island.

“Awki, does anyone live there?”

“No, Alchi. No one lives there. Most people think of it as a rock. Only a few of us know it is an island.”

We got closer and closer. I saw the waves rising on the ocean, gliding across the water, smashing against the rocks and exploding into curtains of white water and foam.

A wave rose under our boat and began to drag us across the ocean.

“Pops, what are you doing?” asked Dad firmly grabbing the side of the boat.

The wave crested and I could see only a wall of rocks in front of us. We were going to crash. “Dad?”

“Hold on, Son”

I grasped the side of the boat as hard as I could.

Awki steered the boat to the right, down the wave, into a crevice by the rocks in front of us, past the wall of rocks, and into the small beach where waves broke gently onto white sand.

I was holding onto my seat as hard as I could.

Dad was holding the side of the boat for dear life.

Awki was laughing.

“Not funny Pops, not funny.”

“You should have seen your face. Very funny,” replied Awki, still laughing. He hooked a smelt on a lines and threw it by the side of the boat. Again, he hooked a smelt on another line and threw it on the other side of the boat.

I watched as the smelts on the fishing line sank into the ocean. After a few minutes, one of the lines began to cut across the surface of the sea.

Awki, there is something on the line,” I said, pointing at the line moving across the water.

“Set the hook and pull it up!” said Awki.

I grabbed the line, set the hook by tugging upwards as Awki had shown me, and began to pull. There was a big fish on the other end. I could feel the line stretching and stretching until it broke.

“Alchi, remember what I taught you. Let the fish run with the line until it tires. When it tires, pull it back in but be ready to release if the fish turns and runs again.”

“How will I know when it will turn?”

“Feel the line on your hand. You will feel the fish ready to turn.”

“So much easier with a rod and reel,” I replied.

“Easier, but does not take as much skill. The fish runs and the clutch releases the line, the fish has no chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“By hand, without a rod and reel and a clutch, if you don't feel the fish turn, the fish will break the line and go free. It is the best part about fishing. It is you against the fish, a battle of will and skill,” he said, as the second line began to cut across the ocean.

“There, try with that one!” said Awki, pointing at the line.

I jumped, set the hook, and grabbed the line. I felt the line stretch, and let go, letting the line run over my hand.

“Apply some pressure so the flounder will tire sooner,” advised Awki.

“How do you know it's a flounder?” I asked, putting some pressure on the line with my thumb as it ran across my forefinger.

“I know it was a flounder by the way the line moved when he was biting. Now feel it or it will get away.”

I concentrated on the line running across my forefinger. It ran at a steady pace, and then it slowed down, and then it stopped.

I began to pull the line slowly.

“Feel the line, be ready to let him run when he turns,” said Awki.

And then I felt the flounder ready to turn, and when he did, I released the line and let him run.

After the flounder tired, I began to wind the line back in. I had to concentrate hard to be ready for the flounder to turn and run again.

The flounder and I went back and forth for the better part of half an hour before I brought it into the boat.

“Awki, you are right. Fishing this way is so much more fun. You ought to try it, Dad!”

“Okay, next flounder is mine,” said Dad.

Awki took the flounder I caught, cut it into small pieces and put it on a plate with lemon, onions, and precooked yams. “Son, it will have to be another day. This flounder will feed the three of us.”

Fresh Ceviche! My favorite dish.

After we ate, Awki landed the boat on the small beach. We got out and swam to where the waves broke. As a wave was about to break, Awki began to swim with the wave and came down the wall of the wave. Instead of coming straight down, he rode the wave sideways for several seconds.

“Pops, you have to show me how to do that!” said Dad.

“Awki, teach me too. It's so cool.”

“It is easy. Swim to where the waves break, swim with the wave, and when you start to go down the wall of the wave bend one knee and use it as a rudder to steer and come down at an angle. Come, follow me.”

Dad and I followed, and soon we were riding the waves. We did not ride the waves as well as Awki, but we were doing pretty good for a couple of rookies.

This is so cool. Can't do this in Nebraska.

After a while, we tired and rested on the beach. Then Awki got up.

“Follow me,” he said, climbing up a hill and stopping at a reef high above the ocean.       He looked at us, smiled, and jumped into the ocean below.

Dad looked at me, smiled, and jumped.

I was scared but also jumped. It was such a thrill. I swam back to shore and ran up the hill again, and again, and again.

On one of those jumps Awki waited for Dad and me.

“Come,” said Awki, and swam alongside the wall of rocks and into a small crevice.

Dad and I followed Awki into the crevice and swam into a cave. Some sunlight filtered in, making the walls sparkle.

“Is it gold?” I asked.

“I don't think so, but I don't know. Not many people know about this place,” replied Awki.

“Awki, don't you want to know if it's gold or not?”

“No.”

“Awki, why wouldn't you want to know if it's gold?”

“Because Pops knows it doesn't get better than this,” said Dad.

“Exactly,” said Awki.

I looked at Dad. “What do you mean by that?”

“If it's not gold, then they win nothing. If it's gold, they lose everything.”

“Lose everything?”

“Yes, they would lose everything we had today. They would lose fishing for flounders, eating on the beach, surfing, diving off the reef, and even this cave,” said Dad admiring the beauty of the cave.

I would not trade today for anything in the world.

“Time to head back,” said Awki, swimming out of the cave.

Dad and I followed Awki to the beach.

Awki started the motor, and we were soon collecting the nets full of smelt.

We made it back to the village and helped the fishermen put the smelt out to dry.       We took a nap and, when we woke up, played a game of soccer.

That evening, Dad and I helped start the fire and then sat with the villagers.

We watched the sun go down, and the stars come up.

I was not bored at all. I have never felt as much at peace with myself as I did that night. I did not 'have' to do anything. I sat, relaxed, and soaked up the beauty all around me.

After a couple of hours, I heard Dad mutter.

“Daddy, What?”

“All my life I have been running from myself. Rising early in the morning, working all day, going to bed late at night. I have missed a lifetime of moments like this. I could not stop.”

“I know Daddy. I'm always watching television or playing games or on the Internet or playing with friends or playing with my toys. I have never spent time alone. I've never spent time with myself. I've never felt so... I don't know how to describe this feeling Daddy. But, I know it's something I like better than television, games or the Internet or anything else.”

“Son, I don't know how to describe how I feel either. I know I'm very glad to have experienced it. I think this is what Awki had in mind for us.”

“Can we stay here? Can we live here?”

“No, Son, we can't. It's not our life and this way of life is disappearing. I wish we could stay. All the money in the world can't buy this. We are lucky. Few people ever have this experience.”

“Daddy, we are poor aren't we?”

Dad thought for a few moment, looked at the sky and then looked at me. “Yes.”

That was the last thing we said until it was time to go to bed. We sat and enjoyed the fire, the stars, the desert, the moonlit ocean.

I will never be wealthier than I am now.

Chapter XIV The Stone that saved my life

Dad hugged Awki. “Pops, will I ever see you again?”

“No, Son. I am going back into the Amazon jungle, back to the small village I was born in, but I will always be by your side.”

Dad hugged Awki and tears welled up in his eyes. “I know Pops, I know.”

I started to cry and could not speak.

Awki knelt in front of me. “Alchi, I will never leave you. Don’t cry.”

I stopped crying, gave him a last hug and climbed into the truck with Dad.

We knew we would not see him again.

We left the village, went to Piura and from there took a flight to Lima, and then another flight back to the States.

We landed in Miami and were quickly immersed in the modern life. Running to get the luggage, running to make connections, running to catch the taxis.

Once again, slaves to the clock.

It had been only a couple of days since we were peacefully sitting on a Peruvian beach, but it seemed a lifetime ago.

From Miami we took a plane to Chicago and then a plane to Nebraska.

Dad walked into the house, went to his office and sat on his gold-encrusted, custom-made, ebony desk.

I followed him into the office, sat on the plush Persian carpet, leaned my head on the soft Napa leather sofa, and watched him.

He took his cell out. “Mary, Henry Crester here….”

“Oh... our stock is up. Up that much, huh?….”

“I see... That’s good news. Can you send me the Japanese contract so I can review it?”

“It’s already signed? Who signed it?”

“Jim? That much profit? Damn, he did better than I would have. Remind me to give the office a bonus.”

“Office already got a bonus? Martha authorized it? Why wasn’t I told about it!”

“Right, forgot. No one could reach me.”

“Anything on my deck?”

Dad covered his cell and winked at me. “Son, they don’t need me.”

“Dad, take the rest of the week off. Let’s go fishing.”

“Mary, I’ll be back on Monday. Maybe by then there will be something for me to do.”

“Mary, relax. I’m joking, see you on Monday,” said dad and terminated the call.

People at the office had been scared of Dad. They worked at the office because Dad paid well and they worked late because Dad worked late.

Dad came back a changed man. Every morning he brought fruit, juice and coffee to the office. He left his door open. He mingled and joked with the employees. He asked for ideas, he asked for input and he listened. People changed and worked with him because they liked the work, they worked late because they wanted to make a difference.

Although Dad worked hard, he never worked on the weekends and we went camping often. We did not hear from Awki again. We only knew he was somewhere in the Amazon jungle and even if he was far away, we felt his presence when we went camping, sat by the fire and watched the stars.

The stone with the Awki engraving became my prized possession and was always in my pocket.

I met Gary at Junior High. He was the best football player in the class, he was funny and the girls liked him.

He and I were always together.

He began to drink in High School. I should have told on him but never did.

I remember the day his father bought him a car. It was early spring and a beautiful, sunny day.

Dad left for a Japan business trip early in the morning, I went to Gary’s house late in the afternoon.

“Hey, John. Let’s go for a ride,” he said,  and opened the front car door for Mary, his girlfriend.

He walked around the car, stumbled, caught himself against the side of the car and opened the back door. “John, come’on, let’s go. Susan is waiting for us,” he said and winked.

Susan was a petite brunette I liked.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Of course I’m okay. Get in, don’t make Susan wait.”

I didn’t think Gary was telling the truth but I liked Susan, I liked her a lot. I got in.

“Gary tells me you have like a magic Indian rock. Can I see it?” asked Mary.

“It's not a magic rock. It's just supposed to save my life,” I replied.

“How?” asked Mary.

“I don’t know,” I said, taking it out of my pocket.”

Gary stepped on the gas.

“Whoa, slow down.”

Gary laughed, stepped on the brakes and I dropped the rock.

“Damned Gary,” I said and bent down to pick the stone from under Mary’s seat.

Gary stepped on the gas again.

The white buffalo stood outside. The ground was covered with snow and, although there were snowflakes dancing in the air, I was not cold. I had to be dreaming.

“Kid, I’m a paramedic. Hold on, hold on. Don’t close your eyes, stay with me.”

Is it winter? I thought it was spring. Fog is everywhere.

“Kid, the ambulance is here. Stay with me, don’t close your eyes.”

I float towards the white buffalo and look at the sky. I did not know the sky could have so many stars. “Look at the sky. It's full of stars. So many stars.”

“Kid, Don’t talk. Just stay awake and don’t talk.”

I’m so drowsy. I can’t stay awake.

“Alchi, you descend from the powerful Incas that ruled South America. Through your veins runs the blood of great warriors.”

Awki, are you here?

“Alchi, go back. She has been at your bedside the entire night.”

I open my eyes. Everything hurts. “Susan?”

She looks at me and smiles.

“Gary? Mary?”

Tears fill up in her eyes and she shakes her head.

“Dad?”

“He’s on his way from Japan. He will be here later tonight.”

The next time I woke up Dad was by Susan’s side.

“What happened, Son?”

“I don’t know Dad. The last thing I remember is bending down to pick up my Awki rock.”

Dad sighed. “You were lucky, Son.”

Gary had rolled the car into a wall and flattened the roof. The impact instantly killed him; Mary too. Had I been sitting down, instead of bent over looking for my rock, I would be dead too.

The force of the impact ruptured my spleen, broke my right leg, my right arm and wrist and gave me a severe concussion.

I was in an out of the hospital for the better part of a year. After the accident, Dad left day-to-day business operations to the people he had trained.

Now, he coaches soccer, teaches computer programming at the community college and is on call when needed.

I’m graduating school this year and plan to study literature at the University of Nebraska at Lincoln.

This is my coming of age story, my first book.

Dedicated too:

My son, Mateo, who inspired me to complete the story.

Michelle Luxembourger, who helped to turn a draft into a book.

Louise Sorensen, who generously edited and proofread Awki.

If you enjoyed this book please give it a good review.

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